Vindicating a Man of Consequence: Gaining Her Heart
by Laina Lee
Summary: Darcy has autism and doubts his own self worth. For many years he let others control his life. However, after meeting Elizabeth he longs for something more and finally has the impetus to be his own man. Aided by Bingley and Georgiana, he must overcome the opposition of Edwin (the Colonel) and Lady C., and his own fear to gain his HEA. Fully revised; part I of III.
1. Prologue: Lady Anne: I Admit the Truth

_I dedicate this story to everyone who has autism, loves someone who has autism, knows someone with autism and/or is willing to learn more about autism. Thank you as always to the many kind reviewers of the first draft of this story who took_ _a chance on reading a story by a mom who wanted to understand her son better by writing about him through the lens of Darcy's perspective. As you can guess, I really relate to Lady Anne here as I had a similar moment occur with my own son._

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 **Prologue:**

 **Lady Anne: I Admit the Truth**

 _There is something wrong with my son._

The thought had passed through my mind on many occasions, but I never let it linger, never wrote it down before, as if omitting it would keep it from being true. Now that the words were there, they stared back up at me and each swirl of the letters became imprinted in my mind.

There were many more things I could have written then, many signs that I had ignored, many little things that were just slightly off and many big things that were obviously different, too. But instead, after the ink dried, I closed my journal. I carefully put it away in a drawer and lay down on my bed.

I did not cry then. If I could have cried, I think the tears would have been a relief. Instead I mourned with dry eyes for what could have been and what could not be.

George had known. He had always known it seemed, but I had not believed my husband, and I would not take any comfort from him now.

Although the journal was put away, I kept seeing the inked words before me, as permanent as a sailor's tattoo. How could I have written that down? I felt by doing so, I betrayed my son.

"There is nothing wrong with Fitz," I whispered to myself. Even now with the evidence so clear I felt I must be mistaken. For how could anything be wrong with my beloved son, my only child?

Then I thought about Nurse Storey's words from earlier that day. She said, "Lady Anne, nothing has changed. Master Darcy is still the same boy you loved yesterday and will love tomorrow. Your perception may have changed, but that is all. He can still have a good life. He just needs a bit more help and love."

I wanted her to be right, but I doubted. Unmistakably, he is very different from his Fitzwilliam cousins. Still, her words gave me hope.

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 _A/N: As I did not fully delete this story, if you have reviewed previous chapters before, you may need to logout to leave a new review. I apologize for any inconvenience._


	2. 1: Her Ribbon

**Chapter One: Her Ribbon**

I thought I would feel relief when they left, but instead Netherfield felt a tomb, all grey and monotonous without Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Bingley must have felt similarly as he told me, "How quiet and lonely Netherfield now seems since Miss Bennet and her sister left."

I said nothing. My mind was more pleasantly engaged in staving off my present melancholy with memories from Miss Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield:

There was the morning when Miss Elizabeth arrived to see her sister, her dark eyes sparking, a becoming stain of pink upon her cheeks from the exertion of the walk. Her loveliness drew me forward like a magnet, although I stopped myself before I closed the distance more than a step or two.

I remember mumbling a quick, "Good morning, Miss Bennet," but leaving it to Bingley and his sister to speak with her about her sister. I paid little mind to that conversation as I was occupied with considering both the brilliancy of her complexion from her walk and feeling a sort of worry about the perils she could have faced from walking all alone just to visit a sister with a bad cold.

I likely stared at Miss Elizabeth as I examined her eyes more closely, letting everything fall away from me but my consideration of her. From the sun streaming in the windows, her eyes were a brownish-green hazel, darker toward the center with flecks of gold, rimmed with a circle of chocolate, rather than being a muddy brown as I had earlier supposed.

I remember my thinking kept circling around to Miss Elizabeth that day. I both wanted to speak with her and dreaded the uncertainty that such a conversation might entail. Miss Bingley, as always, attempted to occupy my attention. I recall, though, exchanging a bit of conversation with Miss Elizabeth that the evening in discussing accomplished ladies. By the light of the candles and the fire her eyes were dark, like coffee, and I drank them in, wanting more.

I cared only for Miss Bingley's list regarding accomplished ladies as I know that is what society expects, what my father expected. However, almost without my volition, I added my dearest hope, that "to all this she must add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading." For the bride I desire, shall always be learning. What exchanges I could have with such a bride! Again, Miss Bingley complained and again I deflected, believing she was setting up her own talents as superior as a net to catch me in.

Later, when Miss Elizabeth informed us her sister was worse, I felt I should care more about her condition. That was what was expected of me, and Bingley reacted as he ought. But as for me, I could only think about the fact that this development would result in Miss Elizabeth staying longer at Netherfield. I did not understand the mix of excitement and dread this filled me with.

While the Bingley sisters played their duets, I imagined holding Miss Elizabeth in my arms as we danced. It was difficult to sleep that night while I had inappropriate carnal thoughts about her, kissing her hand without a glove between my lips and her skin. Her hand was warm and soft in my imagining, like the petals of my mother's roses.

Then there was that evening when I had been occupied myself with a book, studying maps of New England in our former colonies. I recall I was looking at a map of Boston in 1677, enjoying the curve of Cape Cod which resembled a jester's boot, all that was missing was a bell, when I heard Miss Bingley engage Miss Elizabeth to take a turn about the room. Oh, what a sight to look up and see her!

The firelight cast a soft glow upon Miss Elizabeth's form, revealing curves in her hips, bosom and cheek. While Miss Bingley had an elegant short stride, undoubtedly taught to her, Miss Elizabeth's seemed the product of many vigorous walks. She seemed to be proceeding at a slower pace than typical as restrained as she was by her arm being linked with Miss Bingley's.

I could only imagine myself in Miss Bingley's place, but rather than having our arms linked, she would be grasping mine and we would walk as one. Though she was small in stature, I believed Miss Elizabeth more than capable of keeping up with my stride.

What were the undulating two dimensional rivers of the map which that evening had been before me, when compared with this living woman's form? In remembering, I longed to trace her topography—the mountains, valleys and rivers—with my fingers, my lips. I wanted to understand what was hidden, what the map maker left off the page.

While I was still half lost in this reverie of recalling Miss Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield, Miss Bingley decided to make idle conversation. She asked me, "Tell me, Darcy, do you hire staff for Pemberley solely from the surrounding community or do you ever find them farther afield?"

I forced my eyes in her general direction and absently answered, "Most of our staff is derived from those who have served our family for generations."

"What a pity," she replied.

"If you will excuse me," I said, standing abruptly and not waiting for an answer.

I escaped, walking out of the parlor. I let my feet carry me out to the park before Miss Bingley could invite herself along.

As I walked, I consoled myself with the thought that Miss Elizabeth's feet had also walked these same paths. I felt the echo of her presence ahead, as etched in my memory when I had been hemmed in by escorting Bingley's sisters and Miss Elizabeth ran off while laughing gaily. I imagined her just out of sight, having turned in front of me.

As I reached the end of the park and turned to return, I spotted a flash of color that was out of place. It reminded me of a colias croceus, a clouded yellow butterfly, fluttering its wings, but the season for them was past. Intrigued, I investigated.

I found a piece of yellow ribbon snagged on a rosebush thorn. It was from her dress.

I carefully freed the ribbon. A fragment of thread remained on one side. The ribbon must have come partially loose before being caught and ripping free. I straightened it and smoothed it as best as I could before I tightly wrapped it up and placed it in my pocket.

I spent most of the rest of the day in my chambers, wrapping and unwrapping that strand of yellow ribbon around my finger. I went to sleep holding it grasped in my hand.

The next morning when I awoke my hand was empty. I frantically searched my bedding for Miss Elizabeth's ribbon, but then found it on the floor next to the bed. I carefully wiped a bit of dust from it and then held it for a while.

When my valet knocked, I quickly placed her ribbon in a drawer. I tried to set aside my feelings for Miss Elizabeth just as I had set aside her ribbon.

It did not work. I felt, though I knew it made no real sense, that finding her ribbon was a sign, in a language intended just for me.


	3. 2: Worms and Snakes

**Chapter 2: Worms and Snakes**

For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by string, rope, thread, wool or anything that I can unwind. I have a predilection for all things long and thin, but especially those that I can hold in my hands and manipulate. Perhaps Nurse Storey first noticed?

I remember that in the nursery there was one cupboard entirely filled with every variety of long, thin things that could be unwound. Nothing delighted me more than unwinding. Sometimes it was the mere action of making a pile and watching what had been a compact and organized substance become a hill of twists and turns. Sometimes it was seeing how long it could reach, with me laying out long lines of the stuff. Sometimes it was me winding it around Nurse Storey's outstretched hands. Sometimes it was throwing a bundle and seeing what it could catch on.

My mother used to save me embroidery thread, wool and long ribbons, but I was especially excited when she brought me a long piece of rope.

When I was young, I had no hesitation in playing with my worms and snakes as I called them. I had not a care as to who saw me with them, but now I know this is yet another example of my oddity. Certainly, string and such are useful, but no other person would ever consider them playthings.

Governess Hayes screeched when she entered the nursery for the first time and found my collection all over the floor. The sound was deafening and hurt my ears (I have since learned my ears are unusually sensitive). I jumped up and hid behind Nurse Storey, not even daring to peer around her skirts.

Nurse Storey tried to quiet her, speaking to her in the even tone she used with me when I was most upset, but Governess Hayes would not be quiet. They exchanged many words, Nurse Storey's soft and Governess Hayes's harsh and jabbing.

In the end, Nurse Storey turned to me, bent down and gave me a hug. I stayed nestled into her even after she released me. She said in her most soothing voice, "Goodbye Master Darcy. I am sorry I cannot stay. Do your best. Remember, you are a fine gentleman." Then, in a very quiet whisper she murmured, "I love you."

I knew about goodbyes. She had bid me goodbye many times; Mother had, too. I knew, though, somehow that this goodbye was different. I tried to follow her out of the nursery, holding onto her skirt with one hand.

Governess Hayes grabbed at me, pulled me away and then slammed the door. I screamed and cried but Nurse Storey did not come back.

Governess Hayes released me, and I continued to cry by the door. Eventually I calmed enough to notice what was going on around me. I saw Governess Hayes and the nursery maid gathering up my worms and snakes and dumping them into the waste can. I ran to the can, crying and trying to use words to stop them, but they ignored me until I tried to pull my worms and snakes out.

I had only succeeded in pulling out a double handful when I heard a whistle-crack and felt blooming pain across my hands as Governess Hayes slapped at them with my biggest snake. I remember screaming as she pulled ribbons and strings from my hands, hands which could not hold tight enough. When my hands were empty, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me away. Her grasp was so tight that it was hard to breathe and though I tried, I could not really kick at her.

Cutting through the sounds of my distress were her demanding words, ordering the nursery maid to continue. Through my tears I saw that the maid continued to gather up my worms and snakes and push them down in the can so more would fit. Finally, when the nursery floor was bare and the maid had taken the can away, Governess Hayes released me. I remember rocking and crying until there was nothing but myself in a dark place within me.

Perhaps I would have stayed in that dark place if it were not for my mother. That evening she came at the usual time and sent Governess Hayes away while she visited. I plopped myself in her lap, still rocking.

She stroked my back, trying to soothe me. My rocking did not still. She talked to me for a few minutes in words that I did not really understand, except for recognizing the names Nurse Storey, Papa, and Governess Hayes. Then she used easier words and told me, "Nurse Storey all gone." She held up empty hands in front of me. "Papa want Governess Hayes." Then she must have noticed that my hands were empty (normally when I was upset I would be running my hands over a worm or snake to help soothe myself).

She asked, "Want worm?"

I told her, "Want worms, want snakes." I chanted this over and over while she looked, hoping she would find one, even the large one that had been used to hurt me.

She searched the nursery, checked every cupboard, basket and shelf. Finally, she came back to me, shook her head side to side and said, "No worms, no snakes." She sat back down, and I scrambled onto her lap again. She stroked my back for a while and I said, "Mama, Mama, Mama" over and over again. Then I felt her hands withdraw from me and looked up to see her hands behind her head. I watched as she unpinned her hair, long wavy blond strands. She told me, "Mama's hair is worms and snakes." She separated out a large chunk and held it out to me. That night I wound and unwound that strand around my fingers until I was very sleepy. It seemed like both a very long time and a very short time. I remember still holding onto the strand until I fell asleep.

Each night that week that Mama visited me, she unpinned her hair for me. Sometimes her elaborate hair styles included braids, which gave me a different texture to touch. She also brought me ribbons and string. She would give me a new one each night and I would furtively play with it by the light of the moon after she left, but each morning when I awoke, it was gone. I would search and search and not find it.

Later I learned that a nursery maid collected them early each morning as I slept. It was necessary, I suppose, to keep me from suffering Governess Hayes's wrath.

My mother also smuggled me yarn through the stockings she knit for me. They were thick and soft, much superior to most stockings. Each had a long end of wool which was not sewn back into the stocking, but only tucked inside. Governess Hayes could not take my stockings away, but she yelled at me when she saw me playing with the ends, still even knowing they were there, tucked against my legs, was a help to me.

I only realized later that knitting, especially stockings, was a peculiar thing for Mother to do as only poor generally knit. The trade in utilitarian objects, like stockings, is an important source of income for many. However, Mother often failed to conform to what was expected of her.


	4. 3: Missed Opportunities

**Chapter 3: Missed Opportunities**

I had many occasions in the interim to regret not dancing with Miss Elizabeth at the assembly and having to wait until the Netherfield Ball to have another opportunity. There was that time at Sir William Lucas's party, when he talked on and on about dancing, but then called out to Miss Elizabeth and addressing me said, "Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you." Then he caught up her hand.

At that moment, it seemed inevitable that Miss Bennet's small hand would be placed in my much larger one and I would lead her in a dance. Her blue skirts would swish back and forth, and perhaps even brush against my stockings and over my shoes. Indeed, I was already stretching forth my gloved fingers to receive her hand, when she pulled away as if burned. My gaze was drawn to her face, her eyes, deep pools which seemed darker than the night sky when illuminated only by candlelight.

I heard her say words of refusal, but still I thought she was only waiting for a proper request and thus asked the formal sentence that had been drilled into me from the first when being taught to dance, only needing to fill in her name: "Miss Elizabeth, will you do me the great honor of dancing with me?"

Miss Elizabeth shook her head and as she did so, one dark little curl came loose and bobbed at her temple. She ignored Sir William's entreaties which I barely heard. I was instead focused on watching that curl move. When she turned away, the slight light caught a bit of each shiny curl that was pinned just so. It was only then that I realized I had been soundly refused. Perhaps was only fair turn-about as I was almost certain that Miss Elizabeth heard me when I rejected dancing with her at the assembly.

I withdrew to the edge of the room to think. I wondered how many hairs on Miss Elizabeth's head made up each curl, how long it would take to count them all and how they would feel to my fingers. When I was younger, I used to think God must be like me. How else would he be able to count all the hairs on a man's head (or even care to know the answer)? What other person would want to keep track of every sparrow? I thought then that he must keep endless lists as I used to do in those days. Now I know he knows everything, so it must be no effort at all, must not require any specific focus.

Then there was that time at Netherfield, when Miss Bingley was playing a lively Scottish air and I sought Miss Elizabeth out specifically for the purpose of dancing with her. I drew close to her and asked, while not looking directly at her, but rather toward the instrument, "Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

I suppose I should have formally requested a dance again as I had at the Lucases' party, but I did not want to explicitly ask and be rejected again. When she made no reply, I half wondered if she had not heard me. The silence grew and grew.

It seemed to be one of the few opportunities it would, in truth, be appropriate to repeat myself. My mind can get caught up in a loop sometimes in which it wishes to retrace the same thing over and over, which results in me wishing to repeat myself over and over again. It can be like an echo sometimes.

Ever repeating myself was something Governess Hayes did her best to beat out of me, with only partial success. My tutor, Mr. Stowbaugh, was not nearly so harsh, but he had mightily discouraged me, explaining that it was disquieting to others. I understood the wisdom in what he said, but it is hard that I am always the one that needs to change myself for other people rather than it ever being the other way around. I now generally keep such repetitions unvoiced except when I am alone. Then I say things as many times as I want.

I felt the need to look at Miss Elizabeth directly when asking once more "Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

I was caught up in staring in her eyes. By the current light they were the color of hot chocolate. I pulled my eyes to the side, midway between herself and the piano forte so as to attend better to her words and not be distracted by what her nearness could do to me.

She was saying, with a delightful lilt to her voice, "You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste," she paused and I could not help but look back at her again, I was as a moth to a flame, "but I always delight in overthrowing those kinds of schemes and cheating a person out of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare."

I felt a burgeoning feeling in my breast, and it was most certainly not a negative emotion. I could not help but respond, "Indeed I do not dare."

I thought in that moment of all the things I did not dare to do regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I did not dare touch her hair, though my fingers itched to do so it would be most improper and unseemly. I did not dare to ask her directly to dance with me knowing that I faced refusal. I did not dare to let myself feel my growing regard for her. I did not dare to imagine seeking a closer association with her, for then she would inevitably know what I try so hard to keep concealed.

I dared not imagine what it might be like to pledge myself to her and have her beside me always; my duty was to marry as well as my father had. I reminded myself of the inferiority of her connections, a mother from trade, ridiculous younger sisters who flirted and carried on. With those things in mind I could try to keep myself from the danger of desiring her for my wife.

Still, I could not help but imagine seeing Miss Elizabeth's tiny hands posed to remove her hair from its current arrangement pin by pin as my mother had. But there my imagination stopped as I was not sure what her hair would be like. Would it fall to halfway down her back or even as far as her waist in thick waves, curling mostly at the ends, or would her hair only reach her shoulders as compressed into curls? No man save for her husband would ever see her hair down and learn the answer to this question.

I wanted it to be my eyes seeing her hair coming down, lock by lock. I wanted it to be my hand sliding along her neck as I moved her newly released strands from her shoulder to her back. If she had thick curls, I wanted it to be me grasping one of her curls, stretching it down, releasing it and seeing it spring back up. I wanted it to be me feeling the sensation of coiling a ribbon-like curl around my finger or sliding my hands down its waves.

But before any such intimacy could take place, we would need to be married. Though I could not marry her, I could imagine saying those words which were like to how I was taught to ask for a dance, "Miss Bennet, will you do me the great honor of marrying me?"


	5. 4: Wrong Footed

_Many thanks to SunriseImagination, mariantoinette1, RegencyLover, Leslie E and Jansfamily4 for reviewing. Every review I get helps encourage me to give the next chapter a final review and post it (rather than continuing to tinker). I know if you read the previous version and reviewed a chapter before that you can't review the same chapter again without logging out which is a pain, so I am certainly not expecting all that many reviews and will savor the ones I get. Thank goodness I can tell from the traffic stats that many people are reading.  
_

 **Chapter 4: Wrong Footed**

Given all the regret I had in not getting to dance with her on those previous two occasions, it seems ridiculous to even me that I did not dance with Miss Elizabeth at the assembly. But I knew precisely why I had not.

When we first arrived at the assembly, I immediately realized that I had made a grave error in consenting to attend. I had been too complacent in trying to please my hosts.

Miss Bingley made clear her expectation that I would partner both her and her sister, telling me, "It is grand that at least there shall be Mr. Hurst but most especially you, Darcy, with whom to dance; I suppose I can take a turn with my brother also . . . ." Her lips turned down.

"I should prefer resting," I told her, "over dancing. We just came down from London after all, and I am still tired from the journey." Really, though, it was not so much that I was tired as that I needed to regain my equilibrium, settle myself in a new place.

Bingley intervened then, encouraging me to attend, also. "Darcy, how would it look if my guest chose to absent himself from mixing with the neighborhood? Even so, though, I will not insist on your attendance."

Bingley so seldom asks anything from me. What could I do but go?

Everything at the assembly was much too overwhelming to my senses especially after the ride and suddenly residing somewhere new. I saw a riot of color and texture swirling before me from the dancing couples, movement hemming me in from every side as others strode around idly, seeking conversation, many shadows falling across the floor from the candelabras. I heard the cacophony of music mixed with men's hard soled shoes, loud voices struggling to be heard over the music, annoying and unpredictable laughter, the swish of women's skirts. I smelled the odor of sweating bodies, perfume meant to mask such odors, and a bit of spilled spirits. I felt hemmed in, surrounded, the room closing in on me. And all this occurred upon our first arrival even when I stayed near the other members of our party.

After having done my duty by dancing once each with Bingley's sisters, I retreated to the edge of the room, a place of relative safety. In taking a seat there, I hoped to be left unmolested from further interactions until I felt more at ease (assuming that might eventually happen).

From this position I saw women take their seats when no partner was to be had. From these self-same seats, I also saw such women who were earlier spurned be sought out as partners. I particularly noticed one young woman as she walked rather near me and took a seat on a sofa a few feet to one side of me (I had selected an armchair that was set a bit more away from the next closest seat for the sole purpose of avoiding conversation with any potential seat neighbors and then scooted it back the two feet three inches it required to be resting against the wall).

The woman who caught my eye had dark hair and eyes and was rather small but well-proportioned in her womanly attributes, though her face lacked perfect symmetry, her nose curving ever so slightly to one side. I noticed she seemed to walk confidently, with a stride that was longer than expected from someone of her size and caused the toes of her slippers to emerge from beneath the skirt of her cream-colored dress. It was not the mincing walk that Miss Bingley and indeed many society women seem to have adopted, in which a woman is meant to appear to float (Georgiana explained its purpose to me) by taking tinier quick steps so that her feet will never be revealed, an affectation that I find troubling. The woman smiled at something as she sat down, prompting a quick wish to flash through my mind, oh how glorious it would be if she were smiling at me!

However, any wish I might have had to look at her longer (unobserved hopefully from my position nearer to the wall), was interrupted by a doddering lady who made her way over to me and took the seat nearest to me, turning her body as much as she could so she could face me. While I tried to pretend that I had not observed her, she insisted on intruding on my peace by shouting at me, "Young man, you must be Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. I am Mrs. Long. Perhaps you have been introduced to my two nieces, the Miss Gouldings?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Oh no matter, I shall be happy to introduce you myself. They are charming ladies, both single and oh so accomplished. My own Jane is lately married. By and by I shall certainly call them over for you to meet, but they are dancing just now. How are you liking our little ball and staying at Netherfield?"

My tutor firmly drilled into me that I need to answer questions, that it is the height of rudeness to ignore people when they address you, but I admit to a sudden surging annoyance, perhaps even anger, that she would speak to me without us ever having been introduced, force unwanted conversation on me and seek to make me make additional acquaintances. I wished to say something rude that would silence her but knew I could not. I let my response do double duty by saying, "It is fine."

She kept trying to extend our exchange with a series of questions which I did my best to answer each time with only one or two words to discourage any further exchange. I was just on the verge of getting up, walking about, and then finding another seat, when finally, mercifully, she fell silent.

I was beginning to feel a bit better when Bingley left the dance (it was between two songs of a set and there was a brief pause) and sought me out as I knew at some point he would. He summoned me from the edge of the dance floor with a beckoning hand, so I got up and each of us closed the distance. As we did so, I knew I was now standing quite close to the brunette I had noticed earlier. Not far from Bingley was a lovely willowy blonde woman. It was Miss Bennet (whose name at the time I did not know) waiting for him to return.

He entreated me, "Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much rather dance." I knew that Bingley meant well but he had obviously misspoken; I had been sitting about by myself and not standing about until he summoned me, and I certainly did not think it was stupid to do so, it was self-preservation. Bingley always encourages me to be more social, but seldom calls me out about it in front of other people and I will admit I was annoyed about it, more annoyed than I would have been had that Mrs. Long just left me alone.

I cannot imagine him to have been surprised by my rejection, though perhaps he was surprised by the way I gave it. I told Bingley, "I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

My reasons sounded sensible enough to my ear and it seemed to me that I had signaled my distress in an appropriate manner (in such a setting I could hardly speak to him about what was truly bothering me without appearing odd indeed). But Bingley was not dissuaded, probably because he knows that it is not unusual for me to oppose any scheme until I have thought it over for a time.

He declared, "I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

" _You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," I told him, glancing at the woman waiting for him. It was another excuse to be sure, though Bingley can always be counted upon to locate the most beautiful blonde at any event.

"Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you," he gestured, "who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" I turned, though I already knew; naturally it would be the woman I had earlier been admiring.

Bingley's choice of a potential partner for me was not accidental. Bingley knows I favor brunettes, especially if they are clever. While he likely had only exchanged niceties with this woman of unknown name, she looked intelligent (no vapid express on her face).

Perhaps I should favor more simple women, for clever women are more dangerous. Trying to correctly follow brilliant repartee can be risky with all its layered meaning. But still, I like what I like and there is no changing it.

When I caught Miss Elizabeth's eye (though naturally enough I did not know her name then either), I felt almost stung. There is sometimes an intensity in exchanging a gaze which almost seems to burn me. I knew then that I could never risk dancing with her and being forced to engage in all the niceties a dance requires, most especially idle conversation. If I could have just danced with her in silence, I might have heeded Bingley's request.

I determined I needed to dissuade him for once and for all, for he was pushing me too hard and I had no tolerance for it at that moment. I happened upon the excuse that was the most obvious, though least polite one and declared in my most icy tone, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Even as I said those first words, I knew there was nothing much the matter with her appearance. No one could have been handsome enough to tempt me in that moment. To my dismay, I heard myself speak far too loudly, but when I am most uncomfortable, I tend to have the least control over the volume of my voice. I was embarrassed and angry at myself and angry at Bingley for putting me in this position, but how could he truly understand?

Bingley never knows a stranger and always seems to know how to speak with anyone in a manner guaranteed to set them at ease. Me, I need to rehearse what I will say, have some certainty in what the exchange will demand of me.

With speaking comes risk. I would have been placed at a decided disadvantage in suddenly facing the prospect of having to talk to Miss Elizabeth when she was yet a stranger, with no way to determine what the topic might be in advance.

I did not want her to see me as awkward, stiff and bumbling, or far worse, odd, defective, diseased, simple-minded. I prefer to be judged as proud and unsociable. It is my duty to protect my family name and reputation, after all.


	6. 5: The Suckling Room

**Chapter 5: The Suckling Room**

I have improved in my ability to be sociable, but I am very cautious about spending any time with people I do not know. Especially when I attended Cambridge, the status, wealth and connections my family had, made others who likely would otherwise have no interest in befriending me, try to include me at first. Indeed, with hindsight and improved understanding, I suspect my father or the Earl (my uncle, brother to my mother) may have even gone so far as to have sons of the men they knew seek me out.

When I began school at Eton, it was confusing. I was accomplished at some things and very deficient at others. I quickly mastered the schedule and routine. When it came to memorization and reciting, I always excelled. When it came to synthesis, explaining how many things came together and creatively interpreting them, I lagged far behind.

But I was most deficient when it came to mastering how to relate to the other boys. My fellow school mates quickly learned that if they smiled when they talked to me that I would believe them to be sincere. At that time, I did not assign any meaning to waggling eyebrows, eye rolls, random snickers and the like. I trusted many times and I was punished for it.

A common prank was for my door key to be stolen from my person and hidden. This happened several times with the key mysteriously appearing in the most unlikely spot (sticking out from a pudding, in the bottom of a chamber pot filled with piss, suspended on a string above a teacher's head). Each time my key disappeared other boys would volunteer to help me search. I thought they were being kind, but it turned out my desperation was a source of amusement to them. They found it funny when I rocked and repeated myself. These were things that I did without conscious volition to calm myself. While a missing key might not be more than an annoyance to other boys (after all, the master of the house had a copy of all the keys and my key would eventually be found), I depended upon order in my life and anything that through that off caused me much anxiety.

It was only after several such incidents that I discovered that Chant, a short boy with black hair and deep brown eyes and one of the boys who was always quickest to come to my aid and occupied the room next door to me, was the very boy who had it stolen my key from me. I only found this out when another boy whispered to me, "Chant took your key."

The next morning, I felt myself most clever when I left my key out having dabbed the edges with ink and after my key predictably disappeared found his thumb and forefinger well stained.

"Give me my key, Chant!" I demanded, explaining, "I caught you black-handed." By this I meant that I had proof of his misdeed which was his black ink-stained hand. I had heard the term red-handed, and my tutor explained the term came from poachers being caught with blood on their hands.

Chant laughed at me. "Darcy does not know anything. Dolt, the term is red-handed!" But he did give me my key back. Forevermore he called me "Mr. Black-Handed" to his friends that always snickered. But he did not take my key after that. In reflecting back on this, I think I earned his respect.

Matters became much worse when I attended university and we were not so strictly regulated. What had been small pranks at school became larger and more troubling schemes. On the worst occasion, when I was engaged to meet some chums at a club for dinner (I had previously supped with them but in the end, I realized they used that previous supper to trick me), I faced my greatest humiliation thus far. I dislike going to places that I have never been before as it is difficult to know what to expect, but I had worked up my courage to go meet Balfour and the others at a club of which he and some of the others were members. We were to be guests for a private dinner and might choose to join the club later. Balfour had said something about an initiation, but I had not paid it much mind as I had no intention of joining.

I took a hackney to the location. As I paid the fare before getting out, the driver told me, "Have a fine time; I wish I had the funds for such indulgences."

At first, I did not know what the place was, in my inexperience I was focusing all my attention on inquiring after the private room they had told me we would be entertaining in. In those days making a simple request of a stranger was terrifying and required that I rehearse the conversation in my head many times and plan on the best way to phrase the request, yet, still, sometimes the words were slow to form when I actually needed them.

I asked, as I had been told, "The Suckling Room, please." The proprietress cackled and informed me, "Sally is available and will take you there." An old woman, dressed in a far too revealing dress, escorted me to a room upstairs.

When she opened the door, I saw that oddly enough instead of a table with my friends, the room was furnished with a bed. I paused uncertain on the threshold. "Come on, dearie," Sally said, somewhat indistinctly, "No need to be shy, I am about to show you all the pleasures a young man can have." She opened her mouth widely in a large "O" and I noted that she had no teeth.

She reached out toward the fall of my breeches with her hand. Before she could touch me, I flinched and then fled as quickly as my feet could carry me, hopelessly confused. Had I somehow misunderstood the address?

As I considered the matter further in the safety of my room, I eventually concluded that the club that I thought I was meeting my chums was a brothel; undoubtedly, they had meant for me to go there. It had all been a joke that they pretended to be my friends. I felt so very stupid then.

The next day at university, I happened upon Balfour and some of the others shortly before my first class. He said in a falsetto, hands clasped as if in prayer, batting his eyelashes, "Oh, Mr. Darcy, do not be afraid, I shall make you a man!" Then they all laughed.

Later, before another class was to begin, I overheard as they discussed the wagers they made about whether I would enter the establishment and how far I would go if I did. Seton said, "Why was I ever foolish enough to take odds that he would allow that grandmother to use her talent on him?" I found the whole matter terribly embarrassing, but said nothing.

That evening I saw George Wickham as I was approaching my room. He smiled and told me, "Well done Bitsy."

That was his nickname for me, which I found abhorrent. When he began taking lessons with me when we were both boys, he had called me "Fitz" as my mother and cousins did. This was still the name he called me in front of my family and the professors but quickly, when there was sport to be had of me, this became "Fitzy" and then finally "Bitsy."

"You made me rich! I knew just what you would do, unlike the rest of that lot. What good fun it was for all of us to spy on you from the adjoining room. The other fellows mostly thought you would figure it out and leave before going to the bedroom and wanted to watch from the balcony, but I knew that would spoil the joke as you would have seen them once you got up the stairs. Luckily, they listened to me and got to see Sally offering you her wares through a crack in the adjoining door. What a good joke it all was and so profitable, too! It is too bad, though, for your sake that you did not allow Sally to show you the pleasures to be had at her mouth."

I felt disgusted and sick to my stomach. I had not realized that they had all seen my humiliation. After that, I began seeing George hanging around with Balfour. Perhaps they had always been friends and I had simply not noticed before.

I learned from this that I could not trust anyone. George had not even been at the initial dinner, yet he had pulled the strings that led to my humiliation. Therefore, I rebuffed all attempts other students made to socialize with me with vigor, while doing my best to use the acceptable language of refusal.

When I was asked to play cards or share spirits, I told them, "I cannot; my father would not approve." This was only a half-truth. He did not approve of gambling or intoxication but would not have begrudged me a friendly game or a little swig, not if it meant I would begin to resemble the son he wanted.

When I was asked to go to the bookstore, I replied, "I have lately been there and have no need to go now." Lately could have been a number of days and I might indeed have desired to go, but simply not with the present company.

When I was asked to share a meal, if it was immediately I always answered, "I do not feel like eating," or "I am not hungry yet"; if it was for a later occasion I always responded, "I regret to tell you, I have already made other arrangements," or "Unfortunately I have another preexisting engagement." No one needed to know that my only regret was having to offer an excuse and that being alone was my preexisting engagement.

Undoubtedly, I should have made another polite excuse as to why I could not dance. However, Bingley always sees right through me, ever since I first let him into my life. He knows I am not really so proud but scared of making a mistake.


	7. 6: My Friend Bingley

**Chapter 6: My Friend Bingley**

Bingley began attending Cambridge my last year, a few months before my father died. I was vaguely aware of his presence. It was hard to miss someone who seems jovial most of the time and has blond hair so light as to be almost white, though I do not know that we had ever exchanged words, but for a quick apology he gave me when he almost collided with me after turning a corner.

So, it was a bit odd when he approached me one day as I was leaving a class. "Excuse me," I kept walking. "Wait!" he was now jogging by my side to keep up with me. Still, I did not think he was addressing me, or pretended that he was not. I kept my eyes firmly fixed forward until he said, "Mr. Darcy, wait!"

I stopped and looked at him, perplexed as to what he could want with me. I had made it clear enough that I did not want friends, and no one asked me to do anything with them anymore.

"What?" My word was precise and did not encourage any unnecessary discourse. I let my eyes drift away from him and to the wall above him, only half seeing him.

"Mr. Darcy, Professor Hanson said I should come talk to you." I waited and that must have been encouragement enough as he added, "I am having trouble with history and he told me that you could help me."

I had excelled in the class when I had taken it earlier, but no other gentleman had ever approached me for assistance before. I wondered if it was a ploy, another trick, but became convinced when he showed me his paper, blotted and incomprehensible, along with a note from Professor Hanson.

We made arrangements to meet later. I decided we would meet in my room, as I would feel better being there, but then as I waited for him, I wondered if this was the best location. I had selected it so that if this was a trick I could avoid being pranked, but I also was not sure I wanted to let someone into the place where I felt most safe.

Bingley arrived promptly and I helped him with his work. When we finished, he did not rush off as I expected, hoped.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair and said, "Finally we are done and can have a bit of fun." Then he sat back up and asked me, "Now, how is it that I never see you out with the other fellows?"

At first, I was very guarded. I shrugged and said nothing.

But he persisted, "Tell me, just who are you, Darcy," (at some point he had dropped the "Mr." and started just addressing me by my surname as most men at university do, though up until this point most everyone still called me Mr. Darcy, except George who still insisted on calling me that retched nickname) "and what do you like doing?"

"I enjoy my studies." I stared at the wall as I answered.

"Come now, there must be something else you like doing. What is it?"

Again, I shrugged. Why would he just not leave? My eyes drifted over to him. Now he was sitting forward, his arms on the table, his dark pupils fixed on me. I noticed then that his irises were a pale blue, and his left sideburn was a bit longer than his right. He kept waiting.

Realizing perhaps that I had no intention of saying anything more, he asked additional questions. I continued to give him as little as possible. Seeing my discomfort, I suppose, he began to talk about himself.

"My family hales from Scarborough originally and I still have cousins there. It is well known that Father made his money in trade, though he is divested now. Many of our fellow students do not think I belong at Cambridge; I am constantly dismissed for being who I am and where I came from. Perhaps I should have told you about this before you helped me today, but I really needed the help. If this is a problem for you, though, I will leave now and not ask for your help again."

I almost told him to go then, not because he was not a gentleman, but because I simply wanted him gone, would have wanted anyone gone. My silence must have been encouragement enough, though, for him to continue to talk.

He told me, "My father built carriages; my uncle still designs and repairs clocks. My father's back was bent from an accident he had when a small child working at a job meant for someone larger. Perhaps it was in fact a blessing, an opportunity, as when he healed as much as he was able, he found that his brains were more important than his brawn."

We talked long into the evening, or Bingley, rather, mostly talked and I listened. I found myself to be interested, despite myself, although the only questions I think I asked were about how carriages were put together, but he could not really answer those well because as he explained his father had kept him away from the family business as much as possible.

I learned his entire family history starting with his grandparents. Bingley's grandfather began his career repairing carriages but quickly concluded he could design them better than they were. He had been saving to open his own shop when his son was injured. Then he had even more motivation to build something which would provide income for his son. He trained his son to understand every aspect of the business and improve it where he could.

Bingley's father rose to direct most of the work, solving the problems others could not. Bingley wanted to join his father in that line, but Bingley senior chose instead to leave the trade as he wanted his son to have more respect than he did and eventually sold the business to his uncle.

He told me, "I know Father did this for me and my sisters, to advance us in this world, but I was still proud to be my father's son while he was yet in trade."

When he left that evening, Bingley told me, "You are a good listener. I have enjoyed our time together."

I only nodded and bid him, "Good night."

Bingley surprised me by arriving on my doorstep two days later. I invited him in, setting aside but not closing a book of maps showing what was known of the dark continent that I was studying (not for a class but for my own amusement) and asking, "What composition do you need help on now?"

He strode right in and waited for me to shut the door before telling me, "I have no work right now. I thought we could talk some more." He paused and added, "I hope I am not disturbing you."

Bingley's visit was unprecedented, and I did not know how to react. I closed the book and then seated myself on my sofa; he took the other end. He said, "I have been thinking about you and wondering, just who is Fitzwilliam Darcy. I must admit I made a few inquiries and while people know of you, who your father is and all that," he waved his hand through the air with a quick flick of his wrist, "no one seems to really know you, except George Wickham, but I cannot match anything he said with the person I met. I really would like to know, who are you? Not who your family is, or what you do at Cambridge, but you yourself, the man."

I was completely unprepared for that question. I told him, "I do not know at all . . . ."

He waited, and then something in me must have recognized that I could trust him given how much he had shared with me previously as without conscious volition, I voiced the following words: "I think something is wrong with me."

He listened as I told him of my trials and how I could not fit in with my cousins or the students at Eton or Cambridge. He kept listening even when I spoke louder and more disjointedly, when I shook when remembering past hurts. I did not tell him all that much that night, but it was enough.

I think this is the occasion when we became more than acquaintances, but instead true friends. I had never had his like, though I knew my mother and sister loved me, they did not choose me (or rather they were stuck with me, though they chose to love me also which was not a requirement I suppose of who I was to them, as I was not sure whether Father had ever truly loved me). While I felt connected to my cousin Edwin, the Earl's son, Edwin also had a family obligation to me. Nurse Storey and Mr. Stowbaugh cared for me, I am certain, but they were paid to do so.

Perhaps others in seeing our closeness would have felt that Bingley was getting something from my status, my family connections, but other than my tutoring, it was I who benefitted, it was he who helped me. He had suggestions for things I could do to ingratiate myself with his set of friends (which was made easier by my seniority and place in life) and encouraged me to engage in activities. He did not try to make me into someone I was not. I began to be invited to proper social outings because he was my friend and I went to some because he smoothed my way, explained me to other people, defended me when needed. He enjoyed more society than I wanted but was also content to come visit me and simply sit in companionable silence with me if that is what I wanted while I stared at my maps.

After months together, Bingley told me I reminded him of his uncle James. "He is not a sociable fellow, but he knows more about clocks than anyone else you could ever meet. No one taught him anything about them, he taught himself. He will not say more than two words about any other subject. There is something in the way you look at most people, not quite in the eyes, that is like him, though he stares more at one's chin. But when you talk about maps or he talks about clocks you are both fully engaged and joyful. I wish I could feel that way about something."

Then he asked me something that no one had ever asked me before: "Why do you like maps so much?" I knew the answer, but it was difficult to explain in words. He let me think and did not rush me.

I considered giving him the full answer, explaining that the lines on the maps were like my worms to me, that I felt safe in being able to trace and master the physical world in such a way, but as I had never told him about my worms and snakes, this would lead to more questions and I feared what he would think of me if he knew. Whereas when I was younger, I had no embarrassment for my fondness of such things, now I knew all too well how unacceptable someone else was likely to find this particular predilection of mine. Instead, I settled for giving Bingley a partial answer, explaining only how my preference for the lines in maps had gradually transformed into a peculiar talent.

I told him "I am not like other people. I think they just see lines. I can feel myself being in the map, experiencing the meanderings of the roads depicted as if I am on them and can remember where to go. When I travel somewhere new by horseback (or on foot) it forms a map in my mind; it builds on whatever map is already there. I never get lost. I remember every twist and turn. The older maps may be wrong, but they are a way of experiencing what others thought about their world. I can layer many maps in my mind to increase the complexity perhaps beyond what another could comprehend. I adjust the flawed maps others create to true maps when I travel and see things for myself. I believe I could make truer maps than we have even now."

"How marvelous!" Bingley told me. "What a wonderful ability and talent!" He smiled and nodded.

I was amazed and pleased that Bingley accepted what I told him, although a little voice in my head also pointed out that he would not have been nearly as accepting if he knew about the string in my pocket, or how much I had played with my worms and snakes as a child, or how much I still desired to do so now.

I also felt an unnamed, good emotion. Later, when I reflected on it, I thought it might be pride, or a sense of self-worth. I liked the feeling even if it was somewhat tainted by the idea that I had not been fully honest with him.

From that time forward, whenever we went someplace (whether I had been there before or not), Bingley let me take the lead. I could tell he had confidence in me. In this one thing at least, who I was, was not something to be ashamed of.

Because Bingley could trust in me, I trusted him with more than I had ever trusted any save for perhaps my mother. But there are things that a man cannot share with his mother, things that he keeps deep inside himself.

This did not mean that suddenly I shared everything with him; I never did tell him about my worms and snakes. But it did mean that later, I shared with him about Miss Wilde.


	8. 7: My First Love

_I made a few changes to the previous chapter based on a review's comment, so you may want to reread it if you have been reading each chapter as it posts._

* * *

 **Chapter 7: My First Love**

As Bingley and I began to grow closer, our association at Cambridge had become a regular part of my life. I do not know if he noticed that I inevitably talked to him most Tuesday afternoons after we both had our last class and like clockwork, invited him to study with me in my quarters afterwards. I typically was waiting for his last class to end, to catch him leaving, to exchange the requisite three sentences before inviting him hither, though of course given Bingley's volubility it might be far more than that. Scheduling him into my life in such a regular manner was comforting to me though he did not always have work that could benefit from my help. I often practiced to myself what I might say to him that would be different yet close enough to what I had said before that I might have an idea of how he would react.

It was on a Tuesday, then, when we interrupted my bedmaker from her tasks, returning to my quarters earlier than was typical as Bingley's last class had ended early on that day. When Mrs. Webb saw me she blushed a little, bobbed a curtsey, "Mr. Darcy, Mr. . . ," she noticed Mr. Bingley and he helpfully supplied his name, "Mr. Bingley, I am almost finished. Five minutes at the most and then I have just the water to fetch."

"Very good," I told her and tried to ignore her after that as Bingley and I sat at a small table and talked (that was part of what we always did, talking for fifteen or twenty minutes before we studied, or rather typically before I helped Bingley). Of course, we could not talk of anything important and it was hard to ignore Mrs. Webb as she finished scrubbing the floors. Those sounds were loud to my ears.

I knew she was supposed to serve me, had been hired for such a task and I was to take her for granted and not see her unless one of us addressed the other, and yet it was hard to ignore what was occurring in my room (I never was good at ignoring things, it was one of the reasons that I needed to be far away from other people a goodly amount of the time, it took me many years to learn that this was one of the ways I was so different than other men, I have not whatever they have which should allow me to focus solely on what I am meant to notice).

When she was finally finished and had left for good, Bingley asked, "Why are you so distracted; have you some history with her?"

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked him, knowing by now that Bingley would not laugh at my ignorance of not knowing what he meant, that I could ask such a question and get a serious answer.

"I cannot decide if she is scared of you, perhaps you yelled at her in a moment of pique (you can be most fearsome you know when in a poor mood) or if perhaps you have taken some liberties with her and she has thought the better of them now, making her uncomfortable in your presence. It is quite bad form to become involved with servants."

"Liberties? Why would you think I would do so?"

"Come now, Darcy, while I might not imagine it of you, it cannot have escaped your attention that she is comely enough. Several of our classmates have tupped their bedmakers or more commonly their bedmakers' daughters and Mrs. Webb is young yet. You cannot be entirely innocent of the knowledge of such things."

"I had not noticed," I told him. I was not sure which statement I was responding to, though that answer might do for any of the three, it was a lie for any and all.

I was not sure why I lied, except that I was uncomfortable with the turn our conversation had taken. I felt a hotness to my cheeks. I knew Mrs. Webb had many of the womenly attributes which were deemed attractive: a large bosom, a rounded bottom, honey blonde hair, though some of it was concealed beneath her mob cap.

I knew also that George Wickham had "known" Mrs. Webb; at least that is what I had concluded from my observations. His chamber door was just down the hall from my own. On one occasion I had heard a woman's throaty laugh and George's muffled tones and then later his grunts of effort (rather like he made when running hard) and a woman's moans that sounded more delighted than pained. A few minutes later when departing to wait for Bingley outside his class, I saw Mrs. Webb exiting George's room. Outwardly she looked mostly as she normally did, cleaning supplies tucked in her basket on one arm, a wooden bucket and mop in the other. However, her clothes were wrinkled and somewhat askew. As our eyes caught each other a blush suffused her face (which was already somewhat rosy).

And if these clues were not enough, I overheard George making jokes about his intimate association with Mrs. Webb, though he never mentioned her by name. He said things like: "Oh, it is most convenient to occupy my bedmaker, as once we are finished messing up my sheets, it is her job to remake them."

If I had any attraction to Mrs. Webb, undoubtedly it would have been squelched by knowing what she had done with George, however I do not remember ever having found her desirable. She was nothing to me.

Yet, still, when I saw Mrs. Webb, it made me wonder what had become of Miss Wilde. I hoped she had remained virtuous, was now married and had found happiness. But I feared that she was living a life like Mrs. Webb's instead, perhaps even now serving to gratify the desires of the older boys at Eton.

Bingley must have sensed a story, though, as he proceeded to adroitly question me. I did my best to supply little information, to turn our conversation back to our studies, to the paper I knew he needed to write. I almost sent him on his way, half resolved that after I did so I would stop inviting him hither, retreat back into not knowing him (as if it could be that simple).

Finally, he sighed, saying "I suppose if you do not want to talk about whatever it is, I should let you keep your mysteries." We then proceeded to study, which is what I had thought I wanted, but now I was distracted, and my terse answers must have showed it.

This went on for a while until he finally said "Something is not right with you. I am sorry for whatever shadow I have cast over you, it was not my intent to make you uncomfortable."

Suddenly a bit of truth burst forth from me, "But I am, I do not truly know how to relate to the gentler sex unless they are related to me. In questioning me about Mrs. Webb, I have been dwelling in a memory I wish to avoid."

He gently and deliberately laid a hand upon my shoulder in a gesture that must have been intended to be comforting. "I will leave it be."

"What if I do not want you to leave it be?"

"Well then, you might choose to talk about the matter." He looked down at the table and not at me. I knew why he was doing that; I had told him before that when I was speaking of difficult things it was easier when another person's gaze was not upon me.

"I know why Mrs. Webb is uncomfortable in my presence," I told him, "but that is not what I wish to talk about. What I have been thinking on is why I am uncomfortable in hers."

"Why are you uncomfortable in hers?" By now he had removed his hand from my shoulder after giving my shoulder two pats. That was his way, two pats, always two pats. He continued to look at the table. I looked more at his eyebrows which were just a shade darker than his white-blond hair before focusing off in the distance and forced myself to speak.

"It is not Mrs. Webb exactly, but she reminds me of the women who cleaned my quarters at Eton. Mr. Stowbaugh, I think in despairing that I hardly talked to anyone, instructed that I should say more to merchants and servants. He told me that they had to listen to me, that my position could be used to give me good practice. I took this to heart in always greeting Mrs. Wilde, trying to exchange a sentence or two with her each time I arrived back in my quarters when she was still cleaning them. She was kind to my bumbling efforts. I noticed that on most Tuesdays and Fridays (the days when she did the heavy cleaning) she brought her daughter with her and though it was even harder to make myself converse with her daughter, it was well worth the effort."

"Her daughter?"

"Yes, Miss Wilde was perhaps fourteen to my almost sixteen years. She was a clever brunette; too clever to be doing mere menial work."

I was silent for a time while I thought about Lucy Wilde, my hands sweating a little, my throat feeling dry. Bingley waited patiently until I began to speak once more. For a voluble fellow, he knows when to be silent.

"When I met Miss Wilde, she was in that awkward phase where a girl's body is becoming that of a woman, but her curves are still slight, her body still thin with recent growth, like a half-grown horse. She had chocolate hair which was always tightly restrained in two braids. I do not remember the color of her eyes, but her lips were fuller and darker than was fashionable, as was the shade of her skin; perhaps she had a bit of Moorish blood."

I could see her there before me, but with the cross look she had after, not the more pleasant expression of before, when I first met her, or the smiling expression when she appreciated me a bit, which showed her front teeth with a gap in the middle.

"I finally said more to Miss Wilde one time besides a bare greeting when in straightening my books (the shelves were close to the table at which I was working) her hand lingered on one particular volume; it was _Gulliver's Travels_. I took a chance and asked quietly, 'Have you read it?' She shook her head and made no other reply, her braids moving a bit with the movement of her head. She had long braids, down to here or so," I gestured to my waist. I omitted added that I always had the desire to, wished I could run my hands along the bumps of her braids, though of course I never acted on such desire.

"I do not know what possessed me, but I asked her, 'Should you like to read it?' I remember she glanced at her mother who was busy dusting across the room. She answered softly, shyly, 'I should like to, but I fear my mother would not like me doing so.' That was as much as we talked about the matter that day, but I thought much upon that exchange.

"On her following visit I asked why her mother would not like her to read that and she told me, 'When I am drawn into a book, it means that I am not knitting stockings to sell or cooking our dinner.'"

I paused and Bingley commented softly, "The poor must be most industrious when there is daylight and have no money to waste on unnecessary candles at night."

I nodded, but did not allow his comment to distract me, my words still freely pouring forth.

"All that week I was consumed by wondering how I could share the book with Miss Wilde as she had no leisure time for reading. The answer came to me after we had to recite Latin in class. If she could not read the book, she could hear it. The next day she came to clean with her mother, I made sure I was present as early as possible. I pulled out the book and began reading aloud from the beginning. I made sure to mark my place and read from the book only when she was present. In this way she heard all about the Lilliputians. When I had finished reading about that voyage, she chanced discussing it with me, bit by bit, when cleaning near me."

I remembered Miss Wilde making her comments, head tilted slightly as talked, both braids down her back, hands resolutely moving, reddening as she scrubbed with the hot water. She never paused in her work, while I had nothing I need do but give my attention to our discussion and looking at her.

"When I had read Swift, and I had read his novel more than once, I had enjoyed the adventure of it all, the wonder of it, but it was from her that I learned more about how it was satire. At first, I was resistant to this, but she convinced me with her cogent explanations, she who had only heard the book read and only the one time, while diligently working. She was the first female (bar my mother and sister) I can remember that seemed to want to speak with me about something I wished to discuss as well. I was looking forward to reading the other voyages to her and what she would make of them, but it was not to be."

"Why ever not, did her mother notice and think it improper?" Bingley asked, glancing up for a moment and then refocusing his eyes on the table.

"No, certainly her mother caught on to what we were doing, but I think she, too, was drawn into the story as she told me one time, 'Those Lilliputians are really something' and she laughed when hearing how Gulliver put out the fire. I do not think she minded as Miss Wilde never slacked in her cleaning."

I was silent once more as I thought about the event that was likely the impetus for the actions which caused my shame. This memory had distinctly carnal overtones for me. It was something that occurred before I had so much as even exchanged a word with Miss Wilde, some months earlier.

Miss Wilde was wearing a stained and ill-fitting frock (the dress had probably been her mother's made over for her) and it was in a deeper color more apt for a married woman than a girl, a somewhat reddish brown color. It was a bit too large, especially on the top, though it was cinched tight around her waist with a rather ugly ribbon in an unfortunate color that was neither pink nor brown. It was a warm fall day and as she worked her face was ruddy and gleaming a bit with sweat. I had watched her, likely stared, as she hurried to complete the cleaning of my room, but if she or her mother noticed my staring, they ignored it.

But the sharpest memory of that day was of just a few seconds duration. As Miss Wilde bent over in the task of helping her mother make my bed, the angle was such, when combined with her too large of dress, that it afforded me quite a view of her dugs which were small but had a pleasing swell to them. I even saw the darker flesh of them which terminated with her nipples. At the time it was a revelation to me that a woman's nipples projected out, rather than being flatter like those of a man. I remember her particular nipples were a bit dark, like her lips.

That was the image to which I had first given myself pleasure. I also used it again on many nights that followed, picturing her leaning over my bed as I lay upon it.

While the underlying memory was a delightful one, soon after reading Gulliver's first voyage to Miss Wilde, it became caught up with another that left me deeply ashamed of my conduct. From that time forth, I could not think of the first memory without the cloud of the last, had to find a new fantasy though naturally it was nothing to the first.

Bingley interrupted my musings, asking, "Why would reading aloud to a girl who helped clean your room make you uncomfortable around the woman who cleans your room now? Is it that you miss her?"

"No, that is not it at all. It is what I did later, the thing that ruined it all."

"Will you tell me of it?"

I did not say anything for a few moments, considering whether I really could trust him with such a thing. It was not anything that I had ever told another. I could have shared with Mr. Stowbaugh when he asked why I seemed not myself, or I could have talked to my cousin Edwin about it (when I had seen him next, though given how things had changed between us and certain suggestions he had given me later regarding how I could gain the experience it was expected that all gentlemen would have, I was glad that I had not). I felt I could trust Bingley, with this at least.

"Yes, I shall. I knew I could not have anything further with Miss Wilde. I knew that as much as I might be becoming fond of her, even more than fond, that we were not of the same sphere. I always knew my place in the world, my father made sure of that. I had no wish for the sort of paid associations that are possible for a man and women of such different consequence. I really did not have any improper intentions toward Miss Wilde, just a sort of curiosity brought about by understanding a little of what could take place between a man and a woman, but we were both little more than children still, though I had started to develop the appetites of a man. It was a confusing time."

"Yes, it is an awkward age as I can well recall." He colored slightly and I wondered what he might be remembering, but I had no wish to inquire. Instead, I wished to proceed with my story and, so, continued on.

"Her mother left to fetch water for my pitcher. It must have been an oversight that she left her daughter there, usually the two of them went together. But in my mind somehow Miss Wilde had contrived it, wanted what I wanted. Though in looking back on the experience I can only feel ashamed.

"I stood up and said to her, 'I want to show you something over here' as I walked towards my shelves. She came over by me, probably expecting that I had a new book to show her, but as she was gazing at the shelf, I bent down and kissed her. It was just a small kiss, my lips had barely met hers before she turned her face to the side and backed away."

I noticed that Bingley's expression changed, but I did not know from that what he was thinking and my gaze shifted from him to focused on the books upon the table instead.

"I shall never forget what happened next;" the image was suddenly before me as I narrated it to Bingley. "Once Miss Wilde was a sufficient distance away, she pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and swiped at her mouth, as if I had contaminated her with something noxious, and her face became drawn and pinched. She asked me, without leaving me any time to answer, 'What do you take me for? So, tell me Mr. Darcy, the reading, was it all some act of seduction? I will have you know I am not such a girl! Did you pretend not to understand the ironies it contained to lure me in?'"

I told Bingley, "I was swiftly and suddenly ashamed. I had not meant to demean her, to force anything on her. I simply desired to feel what a kiss was like, a kiss with her. I felt, I do not know exactly what I felt, but the emotion overwhelmed me, and I knew that I needed to get away. Perhaps it was shame? I fled my room, nearly colliding with her mother in the process. As I walked around, the things my body does when I am upset were writ large upon me.

I chanced to pass near George, and he shouted out as I hurried past him, 'Why is Bitsy running away?' I rationally knew he had no idea why I was out there, but still my distress increased and I felt I could not get away fast enough, that nowhere I could go would I be safe. Finally, hours later, my legs sore, my feet blistering, I returned to my room when they must have been long gone."

"Did you see Miss Wilde after that day?"

"Yes, she came as before, but everything between us was altered. When I greeted her and her mother, they both responded properly but seemed cross. I had no further conversation from Miss Wilde. She did not smile at me anymore. The thing that had happened, the thing that I did, opened up a chasm between us that was impossible for me to cross, or at least I did not have the courage to try to cross it by attempting to explain myself, certainly not in front of her mother. I tried reading aloud the next voyage in Swift's book, but she pointedly walked as far away from me as she could, while still finding some cleaning to do. From that time on, the two of them cleaned my room much faster than they had before. I had ruined a good thing. After a couple of times of this, I did my best not to be present when they cleaned. Although Mrs. Webb is nothing to Lucy Wilde, bears no resemblance to her at all, the situation in cleaning my quarters here is too similar to them cleaning my quarters at Eton."

"If your stations had been different?" I met Bingley's eyes for a moment before I looked away.

"Then I am sure that I would have never ever gotten a chance to know her at all, given our ages at the time, but if I met her now and she was a gentleman's daughter, I would have pursued her. I have never forgotten the joy of discussing that book with her, nor her flashing eyes as she berated me, nor her chocolate hair."

He told me then, "When you are ready for it, I will help you learn to talk to women. Someday, should you desire my help, I will even help you find an intelligent and well-spoken woman who you could marry."

"A brunette," I declared.

"I will not forget it," he answered.


	9. 8: Fulfilling His Promise

_I think this chapter is almost entirely new material. Enjoy._

 **Chapter 8: Fulfilling His Promise**

I knew I had an obligation to marry and to marry well. My father had drilled it into me repeatedly that I must marry a woman of consequence, someone whose breeding and style might match what our families expected and establish that my idiosyncrasies were of no import, someone whose place in society would cement mine. It was what was expected. It was what was needed to ensure that the legacy of the Darcys carried on to the line of Darcys that would flow through me to generations yet unknown.

But I had only a vague idea of how I was supposed to accomplish this end. When I pictured marrying, it was all about obligation and duty and had nothing to do with what I might desire. Yet after Bingley stated he wished to help my mind often drifted back to our exchange. Was it possible that he could help me? Could I really find such a woman who would want to marry me, who might truly come to care for me? Would he even remember his offer, what I had now come to regard as his promise?

While we were still at Cambridge together, the matter was not raised again by either of us. Neither was it raised during our correspondence of more than three years.

Although I was glad to receive Bingley's letters, his written words were not a good substitute for his presence. He expressed himself so much better verbally and it was harder to feel his presence while I was struggling to decipher the meaning contained in correspondence with many blots and missing words. Having helped him before, I was most familiar with his hand and able to make more sense of the thoughts behind his execution than most. However, even though I could understand them, eventually, reading them was like handling a string that was frayed to the point of almost breaking in some places and tangled in others; in short, it bothered me as such a string would bother me.

It was a struggle for me not to correct Bingley's letters, as I had with his papers during my university days. Every time I received a new letter, the desire grew. I would catch my fingers moving in the air above his missives as if I were holding a pen. I felt a physical need to correct his scribblings, to make order of the chaos, to tame it with correct grammar and spelling, to fill in all omissions.

One day, when holding his new letter, I wondered why I was fighting so hard against this impulse. It was not as if he would ever see my corrections. No one would.

As I began editing, I immediately felt better. After my first edit, I drafted a new and perfected letter. I might go back and forth about what word was intended: Was it "fortress" or "fortunate"? Was it "burying" or "braying"? Was a completely different word intended? I would make my best guess and then continue on. When I reviewed the original again and might make additional corrections to my revision before I finally wrote a final draft. Revising his letters could make for a cheerful evening for me.

Originally, I never intended to share my revisions with anyone, but I could not resist showing Georgiana (who was all of twelve at the time but already far above me in making sense of the world around her) my work after a particularly intense deciphering session.

The letter I was correcting appeared to be written while Bingley was perhaps writing from the desk in his carriage on a particularly rough road while he was somewhat intoxicated. It was the most jumbled mess I had ever seen from him. In the letter I believed he was bemoaning the loss of a woman who had lately married another man, but it was difficult to make the matter out. I decided to ask for Georgiana's opinion as to whether I had successfully deciphered his unreadable garble of a sentence that read: _Sh* **d *he must b*utiful **g*s and I ****l Nebbr *** ***** v**w th* *lc* ** cl**r Au****s *ay tink her._

My first effort yielded: _Should the most bountiful dugs and I mingle? Never, [ever, I must] vow that luck [will] clear Another's hay stink [from] her._ However, I doubted Bingley would write about a woman's dugs to me, and the rest of the sentence made little sense.

Dissatisfied with this version, I tried again: _Should the most beautiful legs and I shall never [be able to] view the luck [on a] clear Autumn day [without] thinking of her._

I showed these two versions to Georgiana after extracting a promise from her that she would not tell our mother about any inappropriate words contained in the letter. She studied the original and my transcriptions for a while before suggesting, "I think the first word you have is actually two words and this word," she pointed to the "g" in **g*s, "might actually be a 'y' and not a 'g'. And perhaps the "lc" is actually a "k" and 'tink' is 'think.'"

This yielded, " _She had the most beautiful eyes and I shall never [be able to] view the sky on a clear Autumn's day [without] think[ing] of her._ "

Well satisfied with Georgiana's help, and happy that she seemed to enjoy the activity also, what had been a purely solitary endeavor became something that I began to regularly share with my sister. So it was that she was just as eager for me to receive letters from Bingley as me.

It was some letters later before Bingley finally raised the subject of aiding me with women. He was responding to a letter I wrote to him, telling him that I would soon be in London on business and hoped he would call upon me after I arrived. I knew of course that as I was visiting, I should have called upon him first, but I did not particularly want to meet the rest of his family.

Thus, it was that in this latest letter, Georgiana and I learned how Bingley meant to fulfill the first part of his promise, to help me learn how to talk to women (although of course Georgiana knew nothing of Miss Wilde or of Bingley's promise). His corrected letter (which took us the better part of two evenings to decipher, mostly because she kept suggesting outrageous interpretations of blotted words, in an apparent effort to make me laugh), read in pertinent part as follows:

 _I miss our association and I shall certainly be glad to call upon you on Tuesday, the twenty-third as you requested. However, I wish you to visit me and my family also rather than for only me to visit you at your London home. I live with my mother and two sisters. My mother is in ill health and you would likely not see her very often, but her presence in the house insures propriety. My sisters are who I really wish you to meet and get to know. They will be patient and kind to you. Indeed, they are most desirous of meeting you. I have told that them that you are a bit shy and awkward but are my closest friend._

 _If you should come, my sisters will provide many opportunities to practice talking to women. They should prove invaluable in helping you improve your skills. Louisa is my elder and of an age with you and Caroline is nineteen and not yet out._

 _Louisa is a light brunette, but she would not be a good match for you, for she is too bland in personality and has no great curiosity about the world around her. She would bore you as a wife._

 _Louisa is being courted by a Mr. Hurst. It is no grand love affair, but they get along well enough. They are in no hurry to marry. Before my father passed on, he granted his permission conditionally. While Louisa since reached her majority and could marry now if she so desired, they are both honoring my father's wishes._

 _The reason for the delay is that Hurst is awaiting an inheritance from his great-uncle which shall allow him to live separately from his parents. I think this uncle is now almost eighty and no one expected him to live this long. It will be a good match should Hurst's inheritance come through, but I imagine that Louisa will marry him sooner or later. So as should be clear to you, she will have no designs on you._

 _Because Louisa has not married, our mother has directed that Caroline cannot come out until she reaches the age of one and twenty or Louisa marries, whichever comes first. I am almost certain that Caroline will be waiting for that birthday, so you have nearly two years to be friendly to her without her having any right to think of you as a marital prospect. Caroline is intelligent but does not have the hair color you seek. I do not think you would ever suit as she can be a bit sharp with other people, but she has a good heart underneath. She will be anxious to impress you._

When we finished reading this letter together, Georgiana asked me, "Will you call upon him and his sisters?"

I did not want to but said nothing as Georgiana looked at me with her wide eyes.

She then offered, "Brother, Mr. Bingley is a good and loyal friend. Surely you do not mean to wait until I am old enough to be presented to society and am able to assist you in finding a wife?"

The image of me depending upon my little sister to help me find a match finally decided me on accepting Bingley's offer and meeting his sisters. During my most proper fifteen-minute call, I said very little, but the next time it was not quite as hard, and I spoke a little more.

Bingley was correct that his sisters would be most kind to me and I soon became a frequent visitor to their home every time I visited London. They were not all that difficult to talk to and Bingley was always there to help facilitate the conversation. I found Miss Caroline Bingley the more interesting of the two, but while she was always kind to me, she could be rather mean with other people. My other general objection to her was that her copper hair, although attractive, was too startling of a color to be soothing.

As I had no designs on either of Bingley sisters, I managed to stumble through conversations with them and gain a bit more facility in such exchanges, but I had trouble taking an interest in their concerns. Often the conversations flowed around me, rather than requiring my contributions, but I did not mind that. What was fashion or gossip to me?

As the years went by, Miss Bingley became Mrs. Hurst, they all moved into Hurst's new home, and Miss Caroline became Miss Bingley. I managed to adjust to these changes and continued to be friendly with them. In these alterations, they still remained essentially the same or at least I could pretend they did.

When Miss Caroline Bingley attended her first ball after she came out, I accompanied her and the rest of her party. Out of politeness I danced one set with both her and her sister. Her ginger hair was elaborately arranged atop her head and she wore fine jewels and a new gown of pale pink.

It was not much different speaking to Miss Bingley as we danced as compared with when I saw her at her home. Her conversation had not materially altered now that she was a woman rather than a girl. As usual, she canvased familiar topics: praising me ("Oh Darcy, this is a fine enough room but I imagine it is nothing to the ballroom at Pemberley"); asking me about Georgiana ("I so desire to meet your sister, have you had a letter from her lately?"; criticizing what other women were wearing and their lack of accomplishments ("Oh dear, I do not know who has told Miss Granger that the shade of yellow she is wearing is still fashionable and did you see those jewels that Mrs. blogging was wearing? Everyone knows her husband is running short of funds. I imagine they are simply paste.") I had heard it all before and other than answering in as few words as possible her inquiry about Georgiana, I was free to let my mind wander, to glance about the room and see what brunettes were in attendance, cataloging them though I did not dare to talk to them.

When the set was over, I excused myself and contemplated asking someone else to dance. There was a lovely woman with chocolate hair and light eyes, who was the daughter of our hostess. I had been introduced to her earlier, but was unable to utter any words beyond, "Charmed," before she looked at me and I felt the need to quickly retreat and did so.

Now she was a few feet away from me and talking with a handsome man who was far more loquacious than me. I was not close enough to hear their conversation, but whatever he was saying was making her smile and her eyes sparkle. They traded more words as she wrote his name on her card.

I imagined walking up to her to request a dance, but having the words get garbled and stuck in my mouth. Her smile would fade as mere politeness prevented her from turning away. Instead of making the attempt and facing failure, I slowly walked away from her and tried to avoid talking with anyone.

I felt out of sorts. Bingley had been wrong. Just because I could talk and dance with his sisters, did not mean that I now felt ready to do likewise with other women.

When I retreated to the edge of the room, I watched as Bingley found partner after partner to dance with. I envied him his ease, the way everyone smiled at him. He danced with mostly blondes. When the players were taking a break, he came over and found me, exclaiming, "There are so many handsome women here, including some lovely brunettes. Should you like me to make some introductions for you?"

I shook my head.

"Well, at least you are here. It will get easier with time." Then he let me be.

Later, Miss Bingley sought me out again. The supper dance was about to commence. She clung to my arm. I let her.

"There is no one I would rather dance this set with than you," Miss Bingley commented, trying to catch my eyes which were determinedly fixed above her head on the candles on the other side of the room. I said nothing. My lack of contribution did not keep her from persisting in talking to me. I heard all about her opinions of the fashions that everyone was wearing but made no reply. It was very rude of me, but I could not bring myself to care. Eventually Miss Bingley left, I suppose in hopes of attracting a more willing partner.

I attended one other ball with Bingley and his sisters before I left London for my estate. Again, I danced one time with each of Bingley's sisters. Again, Miss Bingley sought me out and lingered on my arm for a time. She lingered so long that I had no choice but to escort her into supper. It was not so bad to prepare a plate of food for her and to sit beside her.

I did not think much about her behavior at these balls but apparently Bingley noticed as after this second time, he came to visit me the following day and told me, "I think my sister Caroline thinks you would make her a good husband. As much as I would like you to be my brother in truth, I have tried to tell her that you would not suit each other, but she is stubborn, almost as stubborn as someone else I know."

"Who?" I asked, confused as to whom he was speaking.

"You, of course. It cannot have escaped your knowledge that you are most particular in many regards, wanting things to be ordered just so. Perhaps you may want to distance yourself from Caroline, or perhaps it is time for you to look for a wife as once you are married any hopes she harbors will be at an end. I think her interest in you partially stems from her believing that should you marry you would be willing to part with some generous sums to facilitate her favorite charitable endeavors."

But I did not want to do anything differently than I had being doing; I was comfortable enough with how things were, and I seldom enough had that. Too, I would be departing for Pemberley soon. However, I did not attend any further balls while I was in London.

On my most recent visit to London with Georgiana and her new companion, I was more than ready to resume the pleasant association with Bingley's family. I wished for a distraction from the pain that still lay heavily on my heart from my mother's death and how I had failed Georgiana in failing to warn her about George.

When I came to call, the Hursts and Miss Bingley were not at home, but Bingley was. After the requisite expressions of sympathy about our mothers' deaths (they had passed within months of each other), Bingley told me, "You must congratulate me." When I inquired, thinking that perhaps he was on the cusp of getting married now that the official period of mourning for his mother had ended, he explained, "I have found my new home, it is an estate in Hertfordshire and I have already signed the lease. It is perfect, an easy distance from London and if I should find it satisfactory, it is also available to purchase."

He gave me many details before finally concluding, "I am sorry to tell you, when you have only just arrived in town, that tomorrow I leave with the Hursts and Caroline to take up residence there. I hope to finally fulfill my father's desires, to see our family established with an estate, by finally purchasing. The lease is through harvest of next year, but I may purchase it at any time."

As he said this, he did not seem as happy as I would expect him to be. In fact, he was less happy than usual, I judged based on his lack of a smile.

Being uncertain of the cause of his unhappiness, I expressed some doubt, "Are you sure, Bingley, that you wish to buy so soon? Why you have only just now taken up the lease. Managing property is a serious business, even with a steward there are many decisions to be made to make it a success. And to have you permanently so far away . . . . Can I not persuade you to consider finding an estate nearer to my own?"

"I think I would rather reside closer to London. Netherfield is a fine estate and the people in Meryton are kind and friendly. I hope to get to know many of my neighbors, and most especially their beautiful daughters," here he waggled his eyebrows, "at their assemblies. In fact, an assembly is scheduled for the evening of our arrival. I am more than ready to fall in love for good and settle down. The Hursts are not planning on staying long, but I am hoping I can persuade Caroline to stay longer as my hostess."

I found it doubtful that he would have much success with this. Miss Bingley never seemed content with what she had. She seemed to always be seeking excitement elsewhere. She was frequently away from London taking trips and visiting friends.

When she returned and I next saw her, Miss Bingley often mentioned me how she had just gotten a new maid as her previous maid had moved on to other employment. I thought it likely that she was a demanding mistress and her maids were most eager to leave her (perhaps they did not like to travel as much as she), but she never spoke ill of those who left. Instead she said things like, "I shall miss Tabitha, but I am certain she will be quite happy in Cornwall."

Bingley and I talked on for a while about the estate he was leasing. He told me much about the house but seemed not to know many particulars of the land. "Perhaps, Darcy, I might persuade you to visit for a day or two and give me your impression of the estate."

"Perhaps," I replied, having no real intention of doing so, at least not at this juncture, though I would certainly do so before he made a purchase. I did not want to be far from Georgiana, though she spent little time with me these days, instead mostly keeping to her rooms. I was considering having her stay with our relatives, the Earl (my uncle) and my aunt for a time. Though Georgiana was well enough guarded in my London home, I thought perhaps her aunt could reach her in a way that I could not, but I did not particularly want her around the Earl.

"I have a better notion," Bingley told me, "You must come to Hertfordshire with the Hursts and Caroline tomorrow. Miss Darcy is of course invited, too. It will be a perfect opportunity for you. No one will know you there and you may ease up a little, be yourself a bit more. You may even try new things without fear of failing at them. Those that I have met thus far are very friendly and kind. It would be a good opportunity to practice speaking to more women. Perhaps you might even try dancing with someone other than my sisters. You will never find yourself a bride if you do not exert yourself and make some effort. I do not expect you to find anyone there, but you could at least have more practice. If you pay more attention to other women, Caroline may finally set her sights elsewhere."

"You assume, then, that I have no interest in marrying your sister?"

"Would you really consider Caroline?" Bingley asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I do not know. I am more comfortable with her than with other single women of my acquaintance, but she is not the sort of bride that my father would have wanted for me."

"What other single women do you really know?"

I considered; there was my cousin Anne, but whatever was wrong with me seemed to be even more magnified in her. I had not decided whether to mention Anne to Bingley when he added, "Just because you can tolerate Caroline and are used to her, is not a good reason to marry her. I think Louisa married Hurst for similar reasons, but I do not know that she is all that happy with him. At best, I would say she is content. Far be it for me to insult my sister, but can Caroline even compare with Miss Wilde?"

I answered without hesitating, "No."

"Well, then, I certainly do not think you should marry Caroline. Do not even consider it! Instead, try to find someone who at least makes you feel what that girl did long ago."

I wanted to hope that it might be possible to find her equal, but it hardly seemed likely, and even if I met her, how likely was it that she would like me? Again, and again I saw Lucy Wilde's look of disgust as she wiped her mouth clean with her handkerchief.

Still, Bingley's words must have affected me as somehow or other in the course of a half hour he managed to persuade me to depart with them the next day. Georgiana, despite my best efforts, determined that she would remain in my London home with her companion.

But attending the assembly was too much. In London I was at least passing acquaintances with some people at the balls I had attended and the formality and the structure made it more bearable. In Meryton the dance was far louder and more boisterous. There was less civility and a tighter crush than I was used to.

It took me a long time to come up with an apt comparison, as I still struggle with analogies, but I think Bingley expecting me to speak and dance with women who were strangers to me, was like tossing a man who does not know how to swim into the sea when he is on a boat that is miles from shore. I am sure he meant well, but I do not think Bingley truly understands what it is like to be me, and how hard it is for me to maintain an approximation of normalcy. How could he, really? I do not know what it is like to be him, either, save for that despite his background which on paper is much humbler than my own, it still seems far easier to be him than me.

If I could have, I would have ridden away from there, fled from them all on my horse and spoken to no one. On a road, tracing a familiar path, I would have felt safe, at least for a while.


	10. 9: Awaiting The Ball

**Chapter 9: Awaiting the Ball**

The next day after the Miss Bennets left Netherfield and departed for their home, Bingley was most eager to go call upon them. He announced at breakfast, "It is my duty to make sure Miss Bennet did not suffer any ill effects in her removal from my home." Then looking about at me and his sisters he asked, "Will you not join me?"

I both wanted to accompany him and to decline. But before I could answer Miss Bingley responded, "Charles, calling on them the very next day would be unseemly. Let them have a chance to get settled back in their home. There can be no reason to call now."

Bingley did not look very happy with this answer but must have seen the wisdom in it as he said nothing further.

I am not sure when I made up my mind to accompany him when he next proposed to call, but the following day when Bingley declared to me at breakfast, "I am most determined that we shall call on the Bennets today. I will and must inquire as to Miss Bennet's health," I knew I would be going with him.

Bingley kept tugging at his carefully arranged cravat and swiping at his hair, making both somewhat unruly as fiddled with the eggs that remained on his plate, apparently wanting the time to go faster until it would be an acceptable time to call.

I proposed, "Perhaps we can take a ride first and then briefly pay our respects." He was quick to agree. He paced as he waited for our horses to be saddled.

Accordingly, once we mounted, we rode here and there to occupy our time. Bingley frequently pulled his horse up (forcing me to do likewise), to check his pocket watch. I found it disconcerting to see Bingley be so obsessive about something. I was not sure why it bothered me until in an epiphany, I realized he was acting somewhat like me in doing something repeatedly (though having a good sense of time I would not have checked my pocket watch repeatedly, but chosen something else).

We were just riding through Meryton when Bingley drew a little ahead of me toward a knot of people. We pulled up beside them and dismounted. Bingley lost no time in greeting the Bennets and addressing Miss Bennet. "Good morning Miss Bennet, we were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you."

I gave a slight bow as it was easier to do this then to speak. I could see that Miss Elizabeth was just next to her elder sister and in that moment wanted to do nothing other than look at her, but I was also scared to be caught up again in her eyes and stare.

I distantly heard Bingley continue, "I was hoping to learn that you were much improved, but I dare say you must most certainly be, or you should not be out walking with your sisters."

In avoiding her gaze, I happened to glance slightly to the side of Miss Elizabeth and noticed to my great horror the George Wickham stood near her.

A sudden anger swept through me and I greatly desired to pull Miss Elizabeth away from George and strike him. George must have seen something of what I was feeling as he turned white and took a slight step away from Miss Elizabeth.

I stood rooted to my spot, trying to make sense of how George could be here. In that moment, I knew that coming to visit Bingley at Netherfield was a grave mistake.

George touched his hat to acknowledge me and I did likewise without much thought. Now that I had enough control over myself to not hit him, all I desired was to get away from him. He must have somehow perceived this, too, as he pointedly turned back to Miss Elizabeth and began to converse with her and her sisters.

As soon as Bingley finished his pleasantries and moved to mount back up, I did likewise. I did not want to leave Miss Elizabeth and the other Miss Bennets in the company of such a man, but I did not trust myself to be able to maintain any dignity if I confronted him now.

Furthermore, as much as I desired to remove the Miss Bennets from his company, I had no right to tell them what to do. After all, who was I to the Miss Bennets? I was not father, brother or husband. While I suppose I could have encouraged them to leave his company, how could I do so without telling them at least some of the sordid business? I feared, rightly or wrongly, that one disclosure might lead to another and imperil my sister's reputation.

George and I had come to a sort of truce after I came to Ramsgate, learned from Georgiana about her intended and intervened. He was to say nothing, and I was to take no notice of him, good or bad.

As I rode away with Bingley, bound once more for Netherfield, my thoughts were not on the street and the path before me. It was most fortunate that Bingley already knew his way around well, because I was not leading on my mount. Fortunately, my horse was happy enough to accompany his stable-mate home with very little direction from me.

I could not think of anything save an arresting image of that day in Ramsgate. It was of Georgiana's tear-streaked face after I declared to her, "You cannot marry George Wickham. I forbid it."

"But he loves me," she protested, "and he is practically family. Father would have approved."

"No," I shook my head vigorously for emphasis, "no, he would not have. And this is beside the point. I do not approve and never shall. George may have the appearance of goodness, but he only seeks his own happiness and not yours."

"But you were friends, should still be friends. George told me you simply had a misunderstanding, took something he said wrong. It is not so surprising; you often do not fully understand other people."

"Just what I am supposed to have misunderstood?" I asked her. "Did I misunderstand all his vicious proclivities at school? Did I imagine the liaison he had with his bedmaker or his bragging about all the women he had? Did I simply imagine how he tormented me for years for his own amusement?"

Still, she was not convinced. "It is a woman's duty to be pure for her husband. A man has no such duty. I may wish he had not done so, but he has loved none but me."

"Whatever he may have said, he does not love you." I held out a handkerchief to her. As I held it out, I realized it was one that she had embroidered for me with my initials in blue.

"What do you know about love, Brother?" She asked me, sitting up taller. She ignored the proffered handkerchief, instead rubbing her face dry on her sleeve. "You do not know the first thing about it. How could you? being as you are."

Her words made me feel horrible. I felt all my brokenness and self-doubt, pushing down on me like a physical weight. Georgiana was usually so kind and understanding of all my deficits, but today it was all stripped away. I felt there was some truth in what she said.

Perhaps Georgiana saw something of how I was feeling then as she added, "I did not mean that you cannot love. I know you love me and loved our parents . . . but how can you understand what is between me and George?" After she said that, she stroked her bottom lip a bit with her finger.

Whether or not I really understood about love, I resolved that I must tell her about what I suspected was George's motivation, as I could not, would not believe that he loved my sister. It had taken me years of contemplation to work out based on examining his actions alone, divorced from the pretty words he told Father, what made George what he was. I knew it would hurt her, but I believed it was necessary, nonetheless.

"George only cares about George; he only cares about his own happiness and will do anything he needs to do to get what he wants. He wants your dowry, but it would not last long in his hands. I wish I could believe that he cared for you, but for him you are simply a means to an end."

"That cannot be so; he told me that he loves me!" Tears swelled at the edges of her eyes again, but did not fall.

I wondered if anything could convince her. I had little skill in convincing other people of things. All I could think to do was to offer her the truth.

"Do you know how Father intended he have that living in the church?"

She nodded, "I do not understand why you did not give it to him. It was terribly unfair of you, wrong of you."

"Georgiana, I do not know what he told you, but it was a lie. I though George cared about Father, even if he did not care about me, but I was disabused about that notion after Father died."

I raised my hand to bid her to remain silent as her mouth opened as if she would speak. "I know he wrote condolences to you, which at the time I felt was sufficient; the lack of love between us might excuse him not writing similarly to me. When Mr. Wickham died soon after, I felt duty bound to express my condolences to George. Soon after received a letter in return. Before I opened it, I expected that perhaps he would thank me for my letter, or perhaps muse about how these two losses impacted us both, but instead he wrote to ask me for money."

I could see the scene right before me as I cracked the wax seal and read his missive. I still felt weighed down with grief, hollowed out, though months had passed since my own father's death. George's letter was simple and quickly came to the point. After his salutation, in the first sentence he wrote, "I cannot live upon the paltry sum that Mr. Darcy left me. More is due me."

I told Georgiana, "George had already received the thousand-pound bequest from Father, but he told me that the interest of one thousand pounds would be insufficient to support him. He brought up the matter of the living that Father told him would someday be his. I wrote him back to explain to him that the living was not yet available as its current occupant was of an advanced age but still in good health. I suggested that he might take his orders and apply to be a curate elsewhere while awaiting the living."

I did not mention to Georgiana how everything in me had cried out against giving him such a living and my hope that he might find another occupation far away. I did not want him to have the living, but it was what Father wanted and Father deserved for me to carry out his wishes.

"George wrote back telling me that having finally resolved against taking orders and that he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He explained that he wished to study the law instead and must have something to support himself in the meantime."

This was my sanitized version of what he wrote, which was more appropriate for my sister's ears than how George had worded the matter, saying "I need the occupation of the living about as much as a Drury Lane vestal needs crinkums. If you do not want everyone to know about your ailment, you would do well to make sure we come to a satisfactory arrangement." I felt again the relief that coursed through me then, that I would not have to endure him living near Pemberley, charged with ministering to our souls, that money would be enough to satisfy him.

"I hoped George was sincere in his intent to study the law but suspected that instead he had run through the thousand pounds in less than a year. However, knowing as I did that he ought not to be a clergyman, I offered him a more than fair sum for the value of the living, three thousand pounds, in exchange for him resigning all claims to it."

The living was not worth that much, but I wanted him to be satisfied and to simply leave me be. I had enough problems to contend with, without George being another one.

"However, when the living became vacant three years later, he wrote to me demanding it and telling me that he would be ordained as soon as the living was his. He asserted, 'Fitz, you have cheated me out of my inheritance by demanding that I resign my claim to the living. It was worth ten times what you paid me for it. I will take orders as soon as you present it to me or if you would rather, you can pay me thirty thousand pounds for it.' Naturally, I refused for I had already paid him amply for a living worth two hundred pounds per annum that came with a myriad of responsibilities."

I omitted from her what George had added after that. He told me, "Your father's true son deserves to live well. If I am dissatisfied with the arrangement we come to, I have it in my power to sink your reputation when I reveal your defect to everyone and show them what an imbecile you are."

I was not sure if George was trying to claim he was actually my father's merry begotten son, or simply held the place of a son in my father's heart. I doubted the former as my father always seemed devoted to my mother and Mr. Wickham was not just my father's steward but also his friend, though the latter could be true. As to his threat, I ignored it. I did not think he would stoop so low. But I wished in that moment I had just paid him, as perhaps he would have left my family alone.

While I was talking to Georgiana, I saw her face slowly droop, like a wilting flower. I did not want to do what I did next, but I felt it was absolutely necessary.

"Now tell me, Georgiana, in your interactions with George, do you have any reason to believe he is studying the law or has any sort of employment?"

She shook her head slowly and whispered, "No."

"So how do you think he is supporting himself?"

She paused again before mumbling, "Off of the money he received for the living."

"And how do you think he was planning to support himself after that ran out?"

Her voice was even fainter as she said, "I suppose on my dowry." Her face had become pale, her lips a dull color, and the expression on her face resembled nothing so closely as the one she had borne a day or so after mother had died, when the reality of the situation fully sunk in.

Her next words seemed more for herself than for me. "After all, it is not as if he could care for me for myself. You must think your sister a fool, to have been taken in by one such as him."

Something in my sister seemed to break that day. While after mother died, Georgiana played mournful tunes, after Ramsgate she did not even wish to open up the pianoforte. Instead, she hid herself away from everyone. She was not even willing to help me decipher Bingley's letters. I knew not what to do.

After George received funds in exchange for the living, I refused his second appeal for the living and additional funds, and I interrupted his attempt to elope with Georgiana, I thought, naively I suppose, that I would never see him again. Yet here he was intruding again in Meryton. Close as he stood to Miss Elizabeth, I could imagine him being quick to poison her against me.

When we returned to Netherfield, Bingley must have seen that something was wrong, for he asked me, in front of his sisters, "Why are you out of spirits, Darcy?"

I asked him, "Did you not observe George Wickham, who attended Cambridge with us, talking with Miss Elizabeth when we met the Bennet sisters in Meryton?"

Bingley shook his head. "No, I did not." I was not too surprised for he had eyes for no one but Miss Bennet.

Then he confessed, "I feel that I should know him, but cannot recall exactly why."

I told him very little of the matter, only sharing, "Do you remember all the trials I had at university? Well George Wickham, my father's steward's son, was responsible for many and if I had never seen him again until my dying day, that would have been too soon."

Miss Bingley asked a few questions about him, but I did not want to share anything that might possibly lead back to the impugning of my sister's reputation and did my best to curtail any additional conversation by saying in a cross voice, "I cannot bear to talk about Mr. Wickham any longer."

Over the next few days nothing much occurred of note until Thursday when we dined with the officers. As was my usual practice, I brought a goodly amount of fine wine and spirits, for I have found that libations are all that is needed to create a favorable impression with most military men. Most abhorrently, George was present at the dinner, but fortunately we were seated far enough apart that we were not expected to talk to one another. However, I heard him loudly declare, "The Bennet sisters are most lovely; I admit I am surprised that none have married yet."

Captain Carter opined (perhaps his tongue was loosened by the copious amounts of Madera he had consumed), "They may be lovely, but they have hardly any dowry to their names. Is that not right, Colonel Forster?"

Denny chimed in, "Yes, Mrs. Forster is bushel bubby to be sure—"

"Hold your tongue about Mrs. Forster," her husband declared.

Denny continued on, "—but so are most of the Miss Bennets. They have a real handful." He held his hands out, fingers spread, and then mimed a squeezing motion. "I wager the Colonel was swayed by the ample—" Colonel Forster was glaring at him by this time,"—purse that came with her. And after all, who would want Mrs. Bennet as a mother?"

"I would be willing to put up with Mrs. Bennet," George opined, "if they had more scratch. I spent some time with Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia at the Philips's card party. Miss Elizabeth is a good listener." He looked right in my direction and grinned before saying, "As it is, given their situation, they would not be good for more than a—" I saw Mr. Denny elbow him and he fell silent. I suspected the word he would have said was "tumble."

Soon after that we departed. That night sleep evaded me until the wee hours of the morning. I kept hearing George talking about Miss Elizabeth and imagining him imposing on her. I tried to tell myself I did not care, but I could not fool myself.

I woke up the next morning, Friday, to rain. Over the next few days the rain kept falling and there was nothing much for any of us to do, but to hear Miss Bingley talk on and on about all her preparations for the ball. I had my books but they did not provide a good distraction to my spinning thoughts. I wished I could have ridden my horse and had that way to calm myself. I suppose I could have ridden him anyway, the groom did some to keep him exercised, but I knew Miss Bingley would react poorly if I brought mud into Netherfield. I could not help but wish for the rain to cease.

I kept imagining what would happen if the rain stopped: Would Miss Elizabeth take to traipsing over the fields and getting mud on her petticoats again? Could I meet her on such a walk? It was a pleasing image. Unfortunately, there was no sickly sister at Netherfield to beckon her hither. I wished I, too, could flout social conventions for her sake.

Although I had not talked to Miss Elizabeth much while she was staying at Netherfield, I felt pulled toward her and a desire to be in her presence, no matter how uncomfortable it might be for me. I asked myself, could this be love? I had no answer. I kept hearing Georgiana telling me that I did not know what love was. It could be that she was right.

As the rain prevented me from being able to attempt to encounter Miss Elizabeth in Meryton again, I knew I had to wait for the ball. I both anticipated and dreaded it, but I knew that this time I could not haunt the periphery of the ballroom. I resolved that at the Netherfield Ball, I must ask her for a dance and warn her about George.


	11. 10: Poetry, Vacillation, and Preparation

**In reviews of the past chapter, several people asked why we did not see more of Darcy's interactions with Elizabeth at Netherfield prior to Ch. 9 and wondered if a chapter was skipped. There was no skipped chapter. Chapter 1 was the present, which was after the Miss Bennets had departed Netherfield and included some remembrances of that time; everything that came after that was catching us up to that, so I did not feel a big need to discuss what occurred at Netherfield. Based on your comments I may change that, but you will also see more remembrances of those events in this chapter. Also, expect the next chapter soon as I was editing what was a single chapter that ended up becoming two chapters.  
**

 **Chapter 10: Poetry, Vacillation and Preparation**

The day after the assembly during our evening's entertainment, Miss Bingley said, "I have no wish to play tonight. Darcy, you have a very fine voice, could you not read some poetry to us? I have just the book." In the past a time or two I had read aloud as part of an evening's entertainment. I agreed and she passed me a book. I examined the cover and found that it was Coleridge.

"Would you please start on page seventy-three?" she asked. I flipped the pages, expecting to find the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" perhaps, or "Kubla Khan," but instead when I turned as she directed, I found a short poem entitled "The Presence of Love."

I stood in order to project my voice better, and Miss Bingley took the seat closest to me and stared at me as I read until I fixed my eyes over her head and toward the window beyond, letting the words flow through me, with more sound than sense. It seemed wrong otherwise to be the speaker addressing an unnamed "you" who must be the one he loved.

Miss Bingley praised my performance and immediately demanded I read another poem, but Bingley intervened and said, "Darcy, I must talk with you about the estate."

I went with him to the library, that sad room that was mostly bereft of books. He closed and locked the door, which was odd behavior from him. I asked, "What is so urgent?"

He paced a bit and then stopped before me. "I fibbed. I do have something important to talk to you about, but it has nothing to do with Netherfield."

My curiosity raised, I gave him my full attention.

"I do not expect that you meant anything in reading such a poem to Caroline as she was the one who suggested it, but I must ask you to refrain from reading such poetry to her. She already fancies herself in love with you, and in this she must be mistaken, but when you read such a poem expressing such words, even though you did not pen them, well, she is making her feelings clear in suggesting such a reading. She may feel there is hope yet that you will ask for her hand when you indulge her by reading said words . . . well, no good can come of it."

"I was just trying to be polite," I told him. "And the poem is a good one."

"I know you meant no harm, truly I do. Just, do not read something like that to her again."

I gave my assurances, of course, and that was the end of it.

The following morning, when I was walking side by side with Bingley back from the stables after a ride, Bingley said, "Darcy, I have been meaning to talk to you about how you acted at the assembly towards Miss Bennet's sister. I do not understand why you were so rude to Miss Elizabeth. It reflects poorly upon me as your host when you are insulting to others."

"It was all too much," I told him looking straight ahead rather than at him. I then explaining a little bit about what I had felt that night before adding, "I was in no mind to spend time with any woman and have her see the worst in me."

"I hardly think you avoided that," he told me, "when you insulted her appearance."

"You may think that, and perhaps you are correct," I acknowledged, but countered, "however, I would rather her think me rude than know the truth about me."

He stopped then and turned toward me. "The truth is not nearly so awful as you seem to imagine it to be. So, you have difficulties. So, we all do."

I faced him, hands on my hips, posture straight. "You have difficulties Bingley? You do? You who have never met a stranger, who are pleased with everyone and please everyone? You have no idea of what I struggle with. How hard it is to be me."

"I thought you had shared enough that I have some idea. But if there is more I need to know, let me have it." He responded evenly, calmly. I wish he had responded in anger and then I could have answered likewise.

I resolutely looked ahead. I could not bear to look into his eyes and see how he might be looking at me. I thought a while. I had shared bits and pieces, but very little about my early childhood or about what my father truly thought of me. But there were some things that I did not want anyone to know. They made me feel poorly; they made me sad; they made me feel other things that I had have no words for, or rather the words existed but I was not sure which words matched up with how I was feeling.

I thought about how hard my father had tried to shape me with the tool that was Governess Hayes. I felt angry in thinking of her, and though I knew Bingley's actions were very different from hers, was he not also trying to shape me? I let my lasting anger towards Governess Hayes out in my next words.

"Stop pushing me to be around people and to try to act as you all do!" I heard myself yell. I forced my next words to be quieter. "You have seen what happens when you do."

"Yes, I have. You attack like a wounded animal." He reached out toward me with a hand that I suppose was meant to be comforting, but I flinched away. He drew his hand back.

In a soft tone he told me, "Darcy, you know I have only tried to help, to make it easier for you. You have done so well with my sisters in London that I truly thought you were ready for more. Perhaps I did err in urging you to come stay with us at Netherfield, in requesting your attendance at the assembly and trying to get you to dance."

Bingley gave a little sigh, removed his hat and moved his hands along the edges while he thought. His light hair reflected the sun on one side as it was early yet, while the other side of his face was in shadow. He continued, "I have learned my lesson. If you wish to return to London, I will not try to stop you. If you stay, I will not accept any invitations on your behalf. You may contain yourself to the house if that is what you desire. If I have any guests, you may hide yourself away in your chambers. While I am already obligated by honor to give a ball at Netherfield, you may leave before it is held, or make yourself scarce."

"Thank you," I told him evenly.

We silently finished our walk, or rather without further conversation, for there was still the crunching sound of our riding boots which left impressions in the frost-coated grass as we strode over it. I also heard the scrabbling claws on the bark of a tree before I saw two red squirrels chasing each other round and round. It was a loud sound for squirrels, perhaps because they were running as fast as they could. I paused for a few minutes to watch them, and I knew that Bingley paused likewise as I could no longer hear him walk.

I could not decide what the squirrels were to each other: Were they friends and playing (perhaps taking turns in chasing the other, it was hard to tell them apart); were they enemies with the chasing squirrel trying to run the other off (that seemed less likely as they chased up one tree, lept to another, scrabbled down the other and then the lead squirrel jumped to the ground, crunching on a pile of leaves before running back up the first tree); were they perhaps a male and a female engaging in some form of courtship, the rules of which I did not know (which I supposed would mean that the male was pursuing the female as she ran from him, but she must not have been completely opposed to him as she had returned to the first tree)? I envied them their speed, the freedom they had to act and not talk, to resolve whatever was between them. I watched until they disappeared high into one tree and I could no longer see or hear them.

It did not happen that day, but as I considered further the options Bingley had proffered, including his permission to abstain from all further interactions, I realized that I did not wish to leave or to hide myself away. I wished to be with people even if I never felt like I knew what to say. Thus, I attended a gathering at Lucas Lodge, rode through town, and dined with the officers. But Netherfield remained my refuge, until it was invaded by the Bennets. I do not think it was accidental that Miss Bennet was invited to dine while we were away. Likely Bingley discouraged his sisters from having guests while I was present.

Still, I had largely forgotten about Bingley's decision to host a ball until more Bennets invaded to visit Miss Bennet. One of the younger Bennets raised the matter instead of leaving once the purpose of their visit concluded. She was somewhat like Miss Elizabeth in appearance but I could not imagine Miss Elizabeth spending the whole of a visit prior, whispering and giggling with her sister.

Bingley declared, "I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement," declaring that it only needed to be delayed until Miss Bennet was well.

Thus, when two days later after our separation from the women after dinner, we rejoined them and saw that Miss Bennet was among them in the parlor, it did not come as much surprise to me that Bingley would speak to her about his intention to throw a ball. I had been trying to examine some maps in my book but had already mostly given it up as a lost cause, as Miss Bingley kept interrupting me. Whom but she would presumptuously pick up a volume concerning a subject in which she seemed to have no interest, _Maps of North America, Volume II_ , without even asking me its owner for permission, and then ask inane questions about the subject that showed all her ignorance and lack of willingness to learn anything? As if that were not enough, Mrs. Hurst was making a terrible racket by playing with her bracelets, the jingle, jangle of them sapping whatever concentration I had remaining.

I heard Bingley say, "Miss Bennet, after you are truly well again, I hope to have the pleasure of your company at Netherfield again when we have our ball."

Finally, something had diverted Miss Bingley's attention from me. My eyes still fixed on the map before me, tracing the lines of the rivers and how they intersected on their path towards the ocean, I heard her say, "By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in mediating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party." She paused and feeling her eyes on me I looked up. "I am much mistaken if there are not some among us," she continued staring at me with unblinking eyes through this discourse, before turning back to look at Bingley, "to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

Bingley looked at me for a moment and then replied, "If you mean Darcy, he may go to bed if he chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards."

I returned to looking at my book while Miss Bingley blathered on. I would give her no encouragement if I could help it. My mind was not on my book, but on the image in my head of dancing with Miss Elizabeth, us drawing near for one part, only to draw apart again as the dance required, but both seeing and feeling her beside me.

Just then I heard Miss Bingley inviting Miss Elizabeth to take a turn around the room; when she joined Miss Bingley, it was a most arresting image when juxtaposed with my prior thoughts about dancing with Miss Elizabeth. I thought about this event quite a lot afterwards, sometimes just focusing on the image of Miss Elizabeth moving back and forth before me (omitting as much as possible the image of Miss Bingley against her), sometimes focusing on the conversation that took place then. That conversation and the one that followed it was an example of how I felt I had excelled in conversing with Miss Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley asked, "Will you not join us, Mr. Darcy?" She tucked a strand of her orange hair (in my mind it is always orange, I do not understand why people insist on calling such hair "red" when this is obviously incorrect, a misnomer) behind her ear before lightly running her thumb along her jawline. I wondered why she was doing that.

I replied, "I shall have to decline; it would not suit as I can only imagine two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, and in either circumstance my joining to stride with you, one of each arm, could only interfere."

Miss Bingley loudly asked Miss Elizabeth to interpret my meaning, which I found rather odd as Miss Bingley should understand me much better than Miss Elizabeth with all the time we have spent in each other's company, but Miss Elizabeth soundly rebuffed her while looking toward me, her eyes holding my own for a moment, with more boldness than I had observed prior. In the direction they were striding, having just turned to walk back towards me, Miss Elizabeth was nearer to me, so Miss Bingley craned around her to address me, thrusting her bosom out.

Miss Bingley asked, "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Darcy?" but I did not immediately respond as I was once again enchanted by Miss Elizabeth, not just her fine eyes this time but her gently swaying figure as illuminated by the fire. "Shall you enlighten us as to these two motives or do you mean to keep it a secret?"

I realized I was staring, seeing her womanly curves cupped by the firelight, and did my best to pull my gaze away from Miss Elizabeth as I responded to Miss Bingley, "I have not the smallest objection to explaining them."

I would have gone on to do so had Miss Bingley not added, "Please enlighten us, I am so eager to know of your motivations, truly I am!"

And then to Miss Elizabeth, "Darcy always has good reasons for everything he does, but sometimes they are too complicated for the rest of us to understand."

And then to me, again, "Can I still not persuade you to join us?"

When Miss Bingley finally paused for a moment, I explained, "You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking—if the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."

Miss Bingley smiled then as if I was expressing a great admiration for her, but I hardly noticed. In truth my gaze was focused on Miss Elizabeth as illuminated by the fire and it was she who I was admiring, who I would think upon long into the night.

While I felt I had acquitted myself well on that occasion, had almost been witty in explaining why I would not join them, sometimes in reflecting back on that evening, I regretted that I had not accepted. If I had I could have felt Miss Elizabeth's hand on my arm even if Miss "Annoying Distraction" was on the other side. But it was this interaction more than any other that finally determined for me that I must put aside my fears and pursue what I desired.

I knew that Bingley would understand if I abstained from attending his ball as he had already given me permission to do so, at least twice. I had no idea if Miss Elizabeth had any expectation of me, but I hope she wanted me to attend, wanted me to ask her for a dance.

When I finally decided that I would, must, attend the ball, I decided to take a methodical approach in preparing. Unlike another man, who might be occupied in deciding on which waist coat he would wear, or considering who he would solicit for a dance, I knew that I needed to familiarize myself with the ballroom. I waited until Bingley and his sisters were out on calls, to open the double doors and walk inside.

The ballroom was an elongated rectangle with a half circle added to one end which was ringed with two sets of windows, one set beginning at about four feet above the ground, and a second set perhaps eight feet off the ground. The first set consisted of four rectangles on either side of the double doors in the middle and the second set had ten rectangles above the first set, the middle two over the doors.. The double doors had smaller square glazings set into them and led out to the garden. The windows cast irregular quadrilaterals of light onto the wooden floor, but for one which was almost an isosceles trapezium. The floor was inlayed in dark and light wood to form designs. There was an elaborate half sunburst design to frame the half circle end. The rest of the room had a much larger elongated sunburst design contained in the center of two inset rectangles.

I paced the length and width of the ballroom to fix its dimensions in my mind, noting when I reached each rectangle. The edge of the outermost inset rectangle was set two yards in from the door and a foot in width, the next rectangle was two yards in from its inner edge and also a foot in width. I imagined that the rectangles were to frame the dance. I walked around each rectangle, once, twice, three times. It was pleasant to do so. The outermost rectangle was approximately eighty feet on its long side and sixty feet on its short side; it felt pleasing that the architecture was so regular in this room, so well planned out and so well executed. It occurred to me then that it was very unlike the assembly hall which had an irregular shape which was noticeably narrower at one end; undoubtedly this was one additional factor which had made the assembly so unpleasant.

Then I walked the entire perimeter of the ballroom, finding each door and discovering where each led. I was pleased to find that there were only four ways in and out to the rest of the house, only one per side: the main doors, the doors out to the garden, a single door which led into the kitchen, and a door into a room that might be used as a cardroom. The other doors only led to rooms attached solely to the ballroom: two necessaries (a his and her) with long hinged benches with inset chamber pots (with the women's necessary affixed with several looking glasses compared to only one in the men's necessary), two closets, and a fainting room for the ladies.

As the ball approached, Miss Bingley used to regularly apprise us of her progress and even insisted on showing us the room as arrangements were made. I willingly came with the party to view the set up of the room, even though she talked about all the wrong things, the color of the curtains she had affixed over the windows (what a pity to shade the light of day from making those warm patches on light on the floor and block out the stars on the night of the ball), her frustration that there was no time to re-cover the cushions of the chairs that now ringed the outer edge of the room so that they might match each other, her addition of additional sconces for candles which was staggered oddly compared to those which had been previously mounted in perfect symmetry. But still, it was helpful to know the room; it would help to ground me.

Tuesday finally arrived and with it our ball. Miss Bingley commandeered the servants all day with her fussing and everything was ready far earlier then required. Miss Bingley was clothed in her debut ballgown, her hair arranged just so and wearing her evening gloves and jewelry before I had even stirred from my book. I was reading Coleridge, the very volume that Miss Bingley had me read aloud from before.

I myself did not require much time to dress, but Miss Bingley occupied much of my remaining leisure time talking with me, forcing me to hold my place in my book. She was much more pleasant when there was no rival for my attention, but the conversation was dull. She was not Miss Elizabeth.

I pondered once again whether I should go to bed early as Bingley suggested I might. It would certainly be easier to avoid Miss Elizabeth than to be near her. Still, I felt I acquitted myself tolerably while Miss Elizabeth was at Netherfield tending to her sister. I managed to speak to her and not exhibit most conspicuous odd behaviors around her. I even thought myself witty on occasion. It was more enjoyable to speak with Miss Elizabeth as compared with Bingley's sisters as she had a way of making any conversation lively, in giving me many things to turn over in my mind afterwards, to examine from other angles.

Perhaps because of the book in my lap, I thought about her opinion that poetry, rather than being the food of love, had the efficacy of driving love away. And yet Miss Elizabeth had conceded, that poetry could be food for "a fine, stout, healthy love" as contrasted with "slight, thin sort of inclination" for which "one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.

Of course, there was a difference between writing a love poem to a woman and merely reading one. In reflecting on Miss Elizabeth's pronouncement, I wondered if reading that love poem to Miss Bingley fed whatever feelings she had for me. The poem had certainly not made me think of her, but rather informed me that Miss Bingley was not anyone who I desired because I felt nothing that the speaker of the poem expressed.

When I retired to dress (or rather to let my valet dress me), I flipped through the pages of the book again, seeking the poem that Miss Bingley had me read to her. When I found "The Presence of Love," I read it aloud with new eyes. I desired to memorize it as the words now took on a different meaning to me now that I had an object for my affection. What I felt for Miss Elizabeth could not be love, at least not yet, but I could not imagine addressing another woman with words like those.

I felt half hope and half dread about what might occur if I asked Miss Elizabeth to dance. I had no fear that she would decline to dance at a proper ball (my very status in society all but guaranteed her acceptance and she would not miss to wish out on the dancing), but feared instead that I would make a fool of myself; be found out as I was at university. If only she could be like Bingley and make the effort to know me and care about me for myself!

I still felt all the same anxieties as I had at the assembly when I waited in the ballroom with the rest of our party for the guests to arrive. The musicians were assembled in the half circle portion of the room, tuning their stringed instruments and practicing a few phrases together; it was a disconcerting assembly of sounds. I felt the press on my senses as before as the room gradually filled (although now the musicians were silent), but now I had the distraction of waiting to see Miss Elizabeth.

When I first saw her, next to Miss Bennet, just behind her parents, I felt my mouth go dry and had a sudden urge to visit the necessary, to be away. I resisted this impulse, but also did not go toward her, though she moved toward me to pass through the receiving line of which, naturally, I was not a part of. I was alone, save for Hurst, who was talking to me (or rather mostly to himself as I gave him hardly any reply) about when the cardroom would be open, how little he desired to dance, and about his expectations for the supper.

I did not dance the first with anyone, although Miss Bingley had hinted several times about wishing to open the ball with me. I stayed back, well back from that outermost rectangle, watching. I watched as Miss Elizabeth danced with a heavy-set man who moved wrong and trod upon her feet. I could see that she was trying to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

During the second set, I did my duty and danced with Mrs. Hurst. But I was distracted while dancing with her as I saw Miss Elizabeth moving in the dance several places down from me, dancing with an officer in his regimentals.

I resolved to ask Miss Elizabeth for a dance when once I was free, but when I was returning Mrs. Hurst to her husband, I lost track of Miss Elizabeth. It did not help that Miss Bingley (who must have been dancing with Mr. Hurst prior), immediately started talking to me.

After a few pleasantries, Miss Bingley asked me, "Are you engaged for this set? I have not yet filled my dance card." Then she waited in silence right near me. I said nothing, using this time to scan the room, trying to find Miss Elizabeth again through the crush.

I saw other Bennets before I saw her. There were her youngest sisters by a cluster of soldiers, Bingley talking to Miss Bennet, and Mrs. Bennet talking to Mrs. Long (fortunately I was too far away to hear what they were saying). Finally, I saw Miss Elizabeth and debated whether I should approach her. My stomach felt sour, my mouth was still dry even though I had drunk some punch during the first set.

I heard Miss Bingley clear her throat and then tap her foot, but she remained silent. Finally, she asked, "Well?" and waited.

I looked back toward the sisters, making no reply. Mrs. Hurst, catching my eye, said, "Darcy, I will be direct as my sister will not be. Charles has long told us that you prefer for people to say what they mean rather than assume you understand what is implied. Is that indeed what you want even if it might be uncouth?"

I nodded.

Mrs. Hurst grabbed her sister's hand and then said, "Would you please ask Caroline for a set? She has been trying to hint to you that she wants you to ask. Please do this to spare me, she will be insufferable if you do not."

Miss Bingley by this time was blushing and trying to pull away, but she was being held tight by her sister.


	12. 11: Claiming a Partner

**This is the second of two chapters for today. Probably I shouldn't be posting it yet, when so far it has been crickets on the previous chapter. But I didn't want to leave you hanging before we got to their dance and all the happened afterwards. Enjoy.  
**

 **Chapter 11: Claiming a Partner**

I was just on the verge of asking Miss Bingley for the next set, when my eyes saw just beyond her, Miss Elizabeth; she was far closer than she had been before. Distractedly, I told Miss Bingley, "I should be glad to dance a set with you later, but first there is something I must do." Not waiting for an answer, I walked toward Miss Elizabeth. As I walked toward her, I could hear the first lines of Samuel Coleridge's poem as I had recited it earlier, playing in my head:

 _And in Life's noisiest hour,  
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,  
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy._

Was not a ball life's noisiest hour? Did I not still feel, despite the distractions, something deep within me, thrumming, determined? I let the next words play on:

 _You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;_

Then I was before her. I did not give myself time to change my mind and I was uncaring as to whether I was interrupting her conversation. "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?"

"I will." She responded and I turned away. Needing a moment to collect myself after my success (not unexpected, yet still thrilling), I walked around the room tracing the outermost rectangle with my feet but for when I had to divert against people discourteously standing close to or upon it. As I walked the counting of my steps was replaced with the next words of the poem.

 _And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart  
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulses beat;_

I felt my heart beating faster. Why was my heart beating faster? Why were my hands damp under my gloves? I diverted to the necessary, expelled my water, cleaned my hands and spared a glance in the looking glass. I could not see much of my turmoil writ across my face. I looked in the glass a bit until my calm façade was once again in place.

I resolved to walk the outermost rectangle once more, to settle myself. I reminded myself that this room in all essentials was just as it had been when I first walked through it by myself. I had perhaps time to complete two circuits before I must claim her for the dance. As I walked the words resumed.

 _You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,  
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve  
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake._

Yes, Miss Elizabeth was in my many thoughts, she was connected to the ribbon which I ran through my hands every day before putting it back in the drawer, the ribbon which I pondered many times putting in my pocket with my own string. I did not really understand how a woman could lie in thoughts like light, but I could imagine light reflecting on a rippling stream. It made me think of the stream at Pemberley, of the loveliness of my estate and how much I wanted to share it with her.

 _And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,_

The heavens had bent around her, framing her, as she walked to Netherfield, as she walked through Netherfield's gardens, when she walked anywhere.

 _How oft! I bless the Lot, that made me love you._

I told myself that my upcoming dance with Miss Elizabeth was unimportant, that it would be almost the same as dancing with Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley, but my body did not believe the lie. My heart kept thumping rapidly and insistently in my chest, my throat kept swallowing the spit that overwhelmed my mouth which even now still felt dry.

I considered leaving the ballroom and not keeping my appointed set with Miss Elizabeth. It would be very uncouth, very rude, but I would remain a stern and proud figure, not the idiot I feared I would be if I danced with her. But as much as I longed to flee, I longed to dance with her more.

When I returned to Miss Elizabeth and led her to the dance, I tried to temper my expectations. I had thought so many times about dancing with Miss Elizabeth that the actual event was sure to disappoint. In my imaginings I would be everything I ought to be to be a proper Darcy, but I knew immediately that I would fall short, that I would disappoint her. I should have been grateful for our companionable silence, but though I could think of nothing to say that would not be out of place, I longed to hear her voice addressing me.

I focused my attention on the little details of her that I wanted to remember: the three freckles by her nose that formed a triangle, the soft curve of her bottom lip that was slightly too large compared to the top one, the sweep of her brows with just a few hairs rebelling from following their fellows, the pattern to her blinks, the shine of her hair in the candle light, how the shadows and the light fell upon her womanly body, the sound of her swishing skirts and light feet, the feel of her gloved hand in mine. I finally understood all the longing in The Song of Solomon: "Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck."

Somehow, she must have known of my longing for her conversation as she began to speak. "This is a merry dance." She paused, waiting for me, and I agreed.

"It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.- _I_ talked about the dance, and _you_ ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."

I pondered Miss Elizabeth's words. She made conversations a kind of game, a puzzle to be assembled and then rearranged to form a different picture. Was she merely being witty or had someone told her all the things I had to be taught that other children simply learned on their own, and was she now instructing me? If so, it was a mean art. I decided to assume it was the former and smiled through the doubt and pain.

I assured her, "Whatever you wish me to say, shall be said, posthaste." I waited. Would she instruct me or censure me now?

Miss Elizabeth looked at me, gave a slight tilt of her head that might be playful, smiled herself and then responded. "Very well.-That reply will do for the present.-Perhaps by and bye I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones.-But _now_ we may be silent."

I could not read with what spirit her remarks were intended. Had George spoken to her about me? I still needed to warn her about him. But not yet, not yet. For something to say I asked, "Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"

She looked at me intently. Her gaze was too strong; I focused my eyes on Bingley who was behind her, while waiting for her response. "Sometimes," she said. "One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of _some_ , conversation ought to be arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

I wondered, was this a veiled reference to my early years when I still had so much trouble communicating? Or was she commenting on my near silence during her last days at Netherfield, making a point about my silence in the library when I feared that if I tried to make conversation it would drive her away?

I asked, "Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine you are gratifying mine?"

"Both," she said. She was lovely, slightly flushed from the dance, her curls bouncing as much as they were able while tamed by many pins. All the distractions around me were blurred as I focused on her. She added, "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.-We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

I took some delight in our verbal sparring, which I had also enjoyed during her stay at Netherfield, but again wondered why she was speaking this way before I responded, "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to _mine_ , I cannot pretend to say.- _You_ think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."

She looked down. Was she abashed by my response? She whispered, "I must not decide on my own performance." I wondered who was to judge it if not her or me.

We went down the dance, but the enjoyment I had taken in it before had vanished. My doubts were in full force. When we could once more converse, I decided to try to discover whether she was much acquainted with George, and as a prelude asked, "Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?"

She answered yes, then smirked before adding, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

I felt the blood rush to my face. I wanted to hit George, but settled for saying, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with the ability to _feign_ such happy manners as may ensure his _making_ friends where he desires-whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them, is less certain."

She wrinkled her brow before responding, "He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all of his life."

I felt my anger threatening to overwhelm me but did my best to respond calmly. I told her, "There was a time when I wished for _his_ friendship but he never desired _mine_. He was happy to pretend he was my friend when it suited his purposes. My father certainly desired that we be friends and treated him as family, but we have never been friends and never shall be after all that he has done. You should be cautious in any dealings with him; he is not a good man."

My ears strained awaiting her response, but we were interrupted by Sir Lucas who made a reference to Bingley marrying Miss Bennet. I found him and her, two couples back from us. Was that prospect likely and was this a general expectation of the town? My thoughts had been so focused on Miss Elizabeth . . . I wondered, had I missed an attachment between my dear friend and her sister?

I turned my gaze from them and looked at Miss Elizabeth most earnestly. Would she respond to what I had revealed, or would the interruption silence her? Should I repeat myself or await her answer?

She looked at me and I could not decide what that look meant. Then she commented, "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being created_."

I felt her statement was a test. I hoped I would not be found wanting.

"I am. I have tried to live by the Lord's instruction to forgive my brother's sin against me 'seventy times seven' but I confess that there are but two people to whom I cannot forgive, though the number of their offenses against me may be less than 490."

She shook her head slightly, "I am trying to make out your character, yet I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

This comment recalled to me Miss Elizabeth's discussion with Bingley about sketching his character. Bingley truly may have meant his words, that "to be so easily seen through . . . is pitiful."

However, at least Miss Elizabeth (assuming she was being honest) recognized his value when she replied, "It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."

Bingley has no guile, which is part of why I am so fond of him, I do not have to try to make sense of hidden layers and double meanings. He never appears to engage in sarcasm, which I can easily miss when others use it. George was particularly enamored with using sarcasm around me, but at least Bingley was kind enough to identify it for me.

I wondered whether Miss Elizabeth had any inkling what my character is like and whether she would consider it intricate with its layers of what I pretend to be, rather than who I am under this carefully constructed facade. In truth, I think I am a simple man when once you know me.

Having already been bold, I decided to trust her. "I will tell you anything you wish to know, but I cannot here where anyone might hear. Then, perhaps, you can properly sketch my character."

She did not respond while we went down the other dance and we parted in silence, but for me saying, "Thank you" and her nodding in acknowledgment.

I was dissatisfied but blamed not her but him. George is certainly better than I at charming people. In this, he, Bingley and my cousin Edwin have a similar gift, but there the similarities end. George charms to use other people for his own ends. Bingley charms because he has a genuine interest in other people and their concerns; he has no guile, which is part of why I am so fond of him, I do not have to try to make sense of hidden layers and double meanings. My cousin Edwin is somewhere in between the two of them, but I want to believe he has a good heart and means well.

I distractedly walked a few feet away and stood with my back to the wall. I knew from my previous perusal of the ballroom that I was situated well away from any doors.

I saw Miss Bingley talking to Miss Elizabeth but knew not of what they spoke. I did notice, though, that Miss Bingley did most of the talking and Miss Elizabeth seemed angry.

I hoped Miss Elizabeth might seek me out when their conversation concluded, but instead a few minutes later Miss Bingley approached me. She told me, "Eliza has made a favorite of Mr. Wickham and became angry at me when I questioned the wisdom of that decision. She asked me about him and naturally I told her you have always been kind to him, though he treated you in an infamous manner. I tried to explain to her that given his breeding, nothing better should be expected. If you shall trust me with the particulars, I could inform her further."

She waited expectantly but having no desire to confide in her I merely said, "I appreciate you defense." I feared, however, that she may have made Miss Elizabeth doubt my motives further.

"I will always stand by you," she told me, "but enough of this nonsense. You should expect no better than this from people in this backwater; it would be well if we should repair to London and leave all of them behind. Now, let us talk of more pleasant things. I have the next free if that is when you would like to claim your dances."

I nodded distractedly. I knew it would be good manners to say something back to her, but I could think of nothing. Although I appreciated her support, I would have rather had Miss Elizabeth's.

Miss Bingley began questioning me, "Did I not hear from my brother that you have an aunt living within a day's journey of here?"

I found myself telling her about Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh as I watched Bingley approach the Miss Bennets. When he began to converse with Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth walked over to Miss Lucas and began talking to her. I felt despair; would she never deign to come and talk to me, and ask me about Mr. Wickham?

As my interaction with Miss Bingley dragged on, I wished that the next set would start soon so that I could do my duty by her and then be done, but the musicians appeared to be taking a longish break. I considered whether after our set I might in fact go take myself off to bed.

My mood was black and resentful when Miss Elizabeth's first dance partner approached me. He bowed very deeply, almost as one might for the king, and said, "Mr. William Collins, rector at Hunsford under the patronage of the right honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh at your service. I declare, I must abjectly apologize for not realizing you were Lady Catherine's nephew. I am delighted to inform you that Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh were in good health when I last saw them, yesterday sennight."

He droned on and on about what an honor it was for him to make my acquaintance, and how fortunate it was that he was visiting his cousins while I happened to be a guest at Netherfield. My mood became blacker still when he informed me, "Lady Catherine has suggested I find a bride at Longbourn among my cousins."

Having seen Mr. Collins dance the first with Miss Elizabeth, before I yet knew who he was, I feared he had selected Miss Elizabeth for this position. I felt a deeply disquieted at the image of her on his arm, beneath his body, his cloying scent overcoming hers, the ugly children he would father surrounding her.

Could I save her from such a fate? Be an alternative husband for her? Surely, she would prefer me to him! But did I want to have her for my future bride and would she consider me to be a superior choice if she really understood my character? Such thoughts still occupied my mind as I danced with Miss Bingley.

After our set was completed, I resolved to dance no more this night. It was far more pleasant to recall dancing with Miss Elizabeth than to dance with anyone else.

I decided to sit near Miss Elizabeth during supper, in the hope that I might speak further with her. I felt truly fortunate when I managed to gain a placement opposite her, even though it meant I was at a distance from Bingley. I imagined Miss Elizabeth and I pleasantly conversing (we certainly could not talk about Mr. Wickham before her mother and Lady Lucas), perhaps feeling her skirt brush my legs, perhaps even helping to fill her plate.

But instead of having an opportunity to speak with her once more, or to have any interaction whatsoever, I heard Mrs. Bennet's loud whisper to Lady Lucas: "Oh my, what good fortune for my family that soon I shall be able to call Mr. Bingley 'son' when Jane and he wed! Fortune has smiled on us Bennets with this brilliant match. Mr. Bingley is such a charming young man, and so rich, quite a better sort of man than his friend to be sure, even if Mr. Darcy is richer. It would not do to have the favor of such a miserable man."

I did not like that Mrs. Bennet had such a poor opinion of me, for as I had barely exchanged a word with her before, her impressions of me must come entirely from her daughters, mostly Miss Elizabeth. However, I had no time to ponder this further as when Mrs. Bennet paused slightly, her daughter hissed, a blush beginning to suffuse her face, "Mama, be quiet! Mr. Bingley's friend is right here! Can you not keep your voice down?"

Her mother ignored her and continued slightly louder, "And to think, my Jane shall be so well settled within three miles of us, and his sisters are already so fond of Jane. I have no doubt that they will be very pleased when the match is formalized."

"Please, Mama, desist! Mr. Darcy can hear you." Miss Elizabeth's blush grew; she ignored me, focusing on her mother who was only separated from her by Lady Lucas.

"And what do I care what Mr. Darcy thinks?" said her mother crossly. "He is not the one who will be marrying your sister."

She turned back to Lady Lucas. "And what a blessing for my other daughters," Mrs. Bennet continued on, pointedly ignoring her daughter who continued to quietly protest, speaking over her, "for as Mrs. Bingley, Jane will be able to throw her other sisters in the paths of rich men, not that Elizabeth shall need that for I have the expectation that she is about to be settled herself. At this time in my life, I can only imagine how grand it shall be that Jane will become a suitable chaperone for her sisters."

"Mama, please!" I thought I would be powerless to resist granting Miss Elizabeth anything she might she would ever ask of me, if she asked me with even half of her current fervor.

"Oh, Lady Lucas, if only you could be so fortunate with Charlotte and Maria, it would make my happiness complete. I wish this for you and your daughters. Fate will smile on your family soon enough."

Mrs. Bennet, from what I know of her, seems to always speak whatever it is that is on her mind. There was something refreshing about hearing Mrs. Bennet bluntly share her opinions about Miss Lucas previously when Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters visited Netherfield when Miss Bennet was ill. I, too, like to speak my mind, unencumbered by societal expectations for polite discourse, but know I need to do my best to avoid doing so, for it would not be proper. Apparently, Mrs. Bennet has no such compunctions.

But at least, while I was not able to converse with Miss Elizabeth, I could look upon her, see new expressions on her face, hear new tones in her voice and observe how well she handled her utensils (much better than either Mrs. Bennet or Lady Lucas). When we had dined together at Netherfield, I was always seated between Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, with Mr. Hurst across from me and Miss Elizabeth a rather far diagonal away from me.

I considered a time or two trying to converse with Miss Elizabeth again as I noticed that she had stopped dancing. I stood where I could easily watch her. However, her cousin Mr. Collins was almost always beside her along with Miss Lucas. I was envious that he could claim her in conversation, make her listen to him. While it was too far away to hear their conversation (although I could sometimes hear her tones), I could see the play of emotions across her face, her smiles, her frowns. I stored them all up, the sight of her was delightful in my eyes. I had the sense that she did not enjoy conversing with Mr. Collins who was standing rather close to her, as she was always turned more toward Miss Lucas than him.

Later, I came a bit nearer to Miss Elizabeth, hoping she would give some hint that I should join her. But such a hint never came and often her back was towards me. It reminded me of nothing so much as seeing the backside of Nurse Storey the last time she left, nevermore to return.

When the dancing was at an end and Bingley's guests were departing, I stood closer to Miss Elizabeth still, hoping she would give some hint that I should join her. Perhaps it was cowardly that I did not attempt to engage her in conversation. But when I looked over at her, she avoided my gaze. Her family remained the longest after the ball concluded, but in vain I waited for a sign that never came.

That night in my bed, although my body felt heavy, my legs ponderous from the long hours I had stood upon them (Bingley had pointed out to me that only ladies sat between dances unless a gentleman was elderly or infirm, or in the cardroom), my thoughts continued to come rapidly and sleep still refused to claim me. For some time I pondered whether Miss Elizabeth might approach me another day, and if so, whether I should reveal all. I had many imaginary conversations with her in my mind.

Then as the first light of dawn began to lighten my room, I thought about Coleridge's poem, hearing each line play for me as I recalled every look Miss Elizabeth had given me that evening. Suddenly I sat up in bed, startled by a revelation that struck me like lightning flashing through me: Thinking of Miss Elizabeth in conjunction with the poem had only strengthened my regard; according to her own pronouncements, this must mean that already I loved her. _  
_


	13. Interlude 1: Miss Bingley: Losing Out

**Yay, I am on a role with updating my stories! FYI, this isn't a regular chapter, this is an interlude in which you get a chance to hear from another character's point of view. We started out with one in the prologue with Lady Anne, and we will periodically get these interludes. Sometimes they will relate fairly directly to the story as it now stands and other times they will mainly discuss another part of the story or answer questions about why things are like they are.**

 **Interlude 1:**

 **Miss Bingley: Losing Out**

The night of the ball I knew I had lost Darcy. Perhaps I never had him, but I thought he would be mine, like a fish in a net who has not yet been lifted up out of the water but is nevertheless caught. But somehow, he had flipped out of my net and landed in Eliza's lap, even though she had done nothing and even now was not gathering him up in her skirt. Perhaps, eventually, Mr. Darcy would slip down off her lap and wriggle until he cast himself back into the waiting sea, or perhaps she would leave him flopping and gasping in her lap, never truly caught but fit for no one else. But I saw little chance of catching him while Eliza still had him, and he wished to be with her.

I previously suspected Darcy's attraction to Eliza when we attended a party at Lucas Lodge. I saw him standing near her and then even saw the two of them talking with Sir William. Darcy hardly ever wishes to talk with anyone he does not know well, but he seemed to be making an effort with her, although he looked uncomfortable and I imagined it was an awkward conversation.

When Darcy was left alone, I took the opportunity to check on him. Charles always wanted one of us close at hand for any social outings after what happened at the assembly. There was no dismay in his expression when I came up to him, just a little bemused smile and a soft look in his eyes.

We played a game we had played before, in which I was to give outlandish suggestions for what he was thinking. I did not play the game my best this time (that night when I was abed I thought of much more outlandish suggestions I might have made, "you were thinking about what it might be like to be a barnacle on Captain Cook's ship, sailing on all his great explorations but knowing nothing but your own tenuous existence" or "you were thinking about how you might drop the names famous astronomers, explorers, philosophers and the like, and convince this dullard crowd that these were actually the names of members of parliament: Copernicus could be our prime minister, Socrates his second"). I suppose I was irritated in seeing my quarry slip out of my grasp.

I said, "You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society . . ." and even as I fleshed this commentary out, I knew how haughty I sounded. I expected Darcy to call me on my lack of imagination, he is never shy about sharing what he thinks with me and does not carry if in doing so sometimes he tramples on my feelings.

However, to my horror, Darcy responded, "Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow." He then confessed that the object of his fancy was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Scrabbling for a response I asked when I was to wish him joy. Rather than giving me a ridiculous response in which I might take heart that he was in jest, he gave a response which teased me for the rapidity of my thought but nevertheless declined to apprise me as to whether he might in fact have matrimonial intent. I teased that it was settled and he gave no hint as to what he was thinking as his face remained bland. I continued to, tease, hoping to inspire a reaction which would finally determine how he felt, but he gave nothing away. At the time, I thought I was dissuading him, but now I think he was already on a fixed track of thought about her which would lead to his heart.

Later, after dear Jane took ill and Eliza came to join her at Netherfield, Louisa asked me, "How do you feel about your chief rival coming to Netherfield? I cannot but think that the scheming Mrs. Bennet sent her hither, in the wish that while Jane is securing our brother (who would send her daughter out on horseback with the skies so black?), Eliza might do the same with Darcy."

I was not sure that Mrs. Bennet had the wherewithal to engage in such strategy, she seems so vacuous, but I was troubled that the man I had selected to be my husband might instead marry such a woman. I responded, "What is there to do? Charles has already invited her to stay and they will have to be in company soon."

"Perhaps we may harden his heart against her if we help him see how unsuitable Eliza would be as Mistress of Pemberley; a proper lady would never walk so far and get so muddy." So it was that we staged a conversation for his ear to try to dissuade him, but though I was able to get Darcy to admit that he would not want to have his sister make such a display, even when I carefully whispered to him, leaning closer than was strictly proper, hoping he might see just the barest hint of my décolletage, "I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that this adventure has rather affected your admiration for her fine eyes."

However, Darcy struck a dagger deep in my heart when he insisted, with a faraway look in his eyes, eyes that did not seem to even see the bounty I had placed before him, which he could possess with matrimony until I had produced an heir or two, "Not at all, they were brightened by the exercise."

I saw how it was then and was silent, while Louisa still doggedly tried to sway his opinion of Eliza with another tact, attacking the professions of her relatives. Although she gained some moderate success when Darcy admitted that such connections lessened the chance of the Bennet sisters marrying well, I was not mollified. Time and time again I saw during Miss Eliza's stay that Mr. Darcy could not help but stare at her. I could not distract him by walking the room, but he was practically staring as Eliza took a turn with me, and dare I say that he was actually flirting when he said he could admire us both better from his seated position.

But the moment when I knew with absolute certainty that I had lost, was when Louisa begged him to dance with me and, instead, Darcy walked off to go talk to her. The way Eliza held herself, I could tell she was not at all pleased. But could he, would he?

The answer was a resounding no. I watched as Darcy walked the dark stripe of wood that formed a rectangle on the ballroom floor and stayed on that fixed path as much as he could (did anyone else notice, did anyone but me and Charles know him so well?). I watched as Darcy went through the door and then kept watching until he returned.

I watched as Darcy danced with Eliza, wishing it was me across from him. Wishing he wanted me.

I tried to tell myself that it did not matter. Certainly, his wealth would have made things easier for me and I could have done such great things with it (I had made great strides in bettering unfortunate women's circumstances by finding them new employment where they would be respectable, but it would be easier to place more women with ready cash and the prestige of such a marriage). But I told myself, I did not really care for Darcy, had just made a calculated choice in deciding upon him. Still, I felt like crying when I saw him smile at her.

I was too tired after the ball to entertain any discussion with Louisa about my predicament after the Bennets kept us up so long, but in the morning, I awoke with more determination to gain Darcy as my husband. While I might not have romantic love toward Darcy (although he was by far my best marital prospect) and I liked to pretend to be in love with him just so that I would not appear so mercenary to myself, I knew it was all a fantasy, just a fancy.

Yet I acknowledged to myself something that should have been evident long ago; I did love him in my own way. He was like a brother to me, a little brother that needed to be guided and helped. Eliza was not right for him; she would never understand him and she would only break his heart.

It was then that I determined, after Charles left, we would close up the house. If I could get Darcy to go back to London, all might not be lost. But as it turned out, all I did was delay the inevitable.


	14. 12: London and Letters

**Chapter 12: London and Letters**

The thought of being in love should have been comforting, but instead it filled me with an unspeakable dread. Loving another was not a blessing if she did not feel likewise. I examined all of my interactions with Miss Elizabeth, but there was nothing that could tell me how she felt.

I felt a sourness in my stomach, a bile in my mouth. I wish I could have been sick, for maybe then my distress would have eased.

Never before had I longed so much to be like other men. If I were like them, I could have, perhaps, deciphered Miss Elizabeth's expressions, had a way to know if there was any hope. What good were my eyes when they could not tell me how she felt, what the expressions that crossed her face meant? What good were my ears if I could not tell if she had warmed to me through the tone of her words? Was it to be like Miss Wilde all over again? If only I had never come to Netherfield or had left before my heart became engaged.

Although I intended to remain at Netherfield until Bingley returned, to seek his wisdom on this matter, I soon discovered that was not to be. Indeed, the very day after the ball, Miss Bingley sought me out and told me, "We will be closing up Netherfield and returning to London."

Naturally I asked why. At first, she told me that they did not think Bingley's business would be completed quickly and it was far better for them to open Mr. Hurst's home so that Bingley did not have to stay in a hotel, than to linger at Netherfield. But it did not take long for her to introduce another concern.

She told me, "Charles is so agreeable and kind that he will bind himself to Miss Bennet based on the strength of his admiration alone, with no thought to whether her own heart is touched, so long as she says 'yes.' I need you to help distract him from being so impulsive, and after all, you have mentioned missing your sister; this would be the perfect opportunity to see her."

I made no protest and merely nodded. It was far easier to leave Netherfield and Miss Elizabeth far behind. If I left, I could imagine there was hope, before learning for certain that there was none.

My valet of course packed all of my effects, but it is a habit of mine to always check a chamber before I depart from it to make sure nothing has inadvertently been left behind. In doing so, I paused before opening a certain drawer. I knew what it had contained and had no reason to think it had been disturbed, but still so long as I did not open it, it might be empty. I almost left the drawer untouched, until it occurred to me that it would be most improper for her ribbon to later be found there. That decided me on opening the drawer.

All the time before I pulled on the knob, I imagined that the drawer was empty. However, when I finally slid it open, a prolonged squeak as I pulled revealing that it was a tight fit, I found the yellow ribbon just as I had left it. Transfixed, I stared into the open drawer and at its only occupant. I studied the way the sunlight from the window glistened on the ribbon, making the top edge brighter than the yellow on its side, and the darker yellow on the part of the ribbon in the shadow cast by the side of the drawer. I also studied the shadow the ribbon cast, its darker twin. Without any conscious thought, I found my hand reaching for it, one finger stroking along the satin as gently as I might stroke a tiny fuzzy kitten whose eyes had not yet opened. And then I was reaching in and picking it up.

The ribbon weighed nothing, felt almost like mere air in my hand and yet I could feel, most slightly, its edges, soft but tangible. I wound the ribbon around my finger and then slid my ribbon wrapped finger along the side of my face and neck. I closed my eyes and did it again, this time imagining that rather than the yellow ribbon wrapped around my finger it was Miss Elizabeth's yellow gloved finger touching my face. I heard a slight sigh escape me and then blinked my eyes open.

I wondered why I was tormenting myself in this way and pulled the ribbon off my finger and then closed my fist around the ribbon. I pondered burning it in the fireplace, but my heart rebelled against having it gone. I debated for many a minute before finally shoving it into my pocket, next to my string. I pushed it down until it was completely concealed and then I left the room. While riding my stallion to London beside Hurst's carriage, my thoughts were not on the road but on whether the ribbon was secure. Several times I found myself imagining it spilling from my pocket and becoming lost upon the road. During each stop we made, my hand unerringly sought out the ribbon. Each time it was exactly as I had left it deep in my pocket. After I escorted my companions to their home, I rode for my own home.

Georgiana was glad to receive me and soon enough I shut Miss Elizabeth's ribbon in the back of a drawer in my own chamber. But this time, rather than being content to merely let it remain there, I found myself frequently opening the drawer to make sure it was still there, though I did not dare to touch it again.

A sennight passed and though I had seen Bingley and his sisters, we did not talk of anything of consequence. I could not tell if Bingley was sad that he had not furthered his acquaintance with Miss Bennet, but he did seem quieter and less jovial than usual.

Within the fortnight I received an odd letter from Mr. Collins. I should not have been surprised that a man who would deign to speak with me without an introduction would seek to impress me with his servitude through an unsolicited letter. I wondered, though, before I perused his letter, at his knowing how to find my address.

 _My Dear Sir,_

 _I feel most fortunate to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh and to have been fortunate enough to have met you, Mr. Darcy, her near relation. I am most thankful that I received the opportunity to pay my respects to you and also, lately, to assure Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh of your good health._

 _Mr. Darcy, please allow me to offer you the proper humility. I am certainly far beneath the notice of a gentleman blessed as you yourself are, with splendid property, noble kindred and extensive patronage. However, I trust that as a clergyman and given my close connection with my excellent patroness, that I am not unworthy of addressing you and obtaining some portion of your notice._

 _I cannot but reflect with utmost pleasure on the fortuitousness of our acquaintanceship. I happened to tell my distinguished benefactress of your condescension in dancing with my cousin Miss Elizabeth, and of your kind manner in allowing me to introduce myself to you. She was most pleased to hear the very handsome thought you voiced in your discernment of her noble character, that she would never bestow a favor unworthily in awarding me the living at Hunsford. It was such a complement to Lady Catherine and myself! You truly are the product of elegant breeding and I am most gratified._

 _My reasons for writing you are, first, that I think it only the right thing to thank you for your notice. You may be pleased to know that Miss Lucas has made me the most fortunate of men by agreeing to be my wife; we shall marry in January. While I originally planned to obtain a bride from among my fair cousins, I do not think I was unworthy of Miss Lucas's hand, given the expectation I have in Longbourn from the entail._

 _Second, I am convinced that it will greatly add to my happiness to be able to repay your condescension with a small service. I think it my duty to give you the speediest intelligence of some most unfortunate and disgraceful news._

 _Third, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier as it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady who I have the honor of calling patroness, that such information must be communicated to you, post-haste. Twice, the right honorable Lady Catherine has condescended to give me her opinion (unasked, too!) that I must write to you about what I have heard in Meryton. As this has been sanctioned by the express authority of my excellent patroness, naturally I felt I would not be assuming too much to pen this letter to the address she supplied._

 _There is a certain Lieutenant George Wickham claiming a close relationship with the Darcy family and you specifically. This must be false, for why would Mr. Darcy, the son of Lady Anne, the grandson of an earl, associate with a steward's son? As the near relative of a very noble lady, one of the most illustrious personages of this land, you are most clearly not of his circle and any association could not be properly sanctioned._

 _Mr. Wickham has been disparaging you most severely. False reports began reaching my ears before you had been gone from Netherfield more than two days. I was most amazed at hearing such gossip and strenuously opposed such disgraceful and utterly untrue characterizations. I sought out further reports as I wished to write you most accurately about such a matter after relating them in whole to her ladyship. Lady Catherine does not look upon Mr. Wickham or his wicked falsehoods with a friendly eye! It is my Christian duty to warn you as such rumors and false testimony could be injurious to and might also taint your beloved betrothed, Miss de Bourgh._

What followed was an extensive report, some three pages long, in which Mr. Collins related each person who had shared a rumor with him and what it was in meticulous detail. I did not recognize a single name. Perhaps they were all drunkards or simpletons themselves.

The stories ranged from those with a grain of truth to the utterly ridiculous. It was claimed I spent my first five years mute but for barking like a dog, to learn to speak I required treats like a dog, or Mr. Wickham taught me to speak, by working like a dog. I was the result of bad blood. I was insane and belonged in an asylum. My intelligent speech was but a parlor trick, the result of memorization and not thought. Wickham completely all my work at university for the sake of pleasing my father. Wickham tutored me. Wickham was paid to be my friend but when my father died he never received what was due and I further stole his inheritance. My father wished Mr. Wickham was his son; Mr. Wickham was in fact his son, born on the wrong side of the sheets. I was master of Pemberley in name only.

 _I sincerely sympathize with you, it is to be much lamented and you are to be grievously pitied, which opinion I am not only joined by Miss Lucas, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter to whom I have related the affair in whole once I returned to Kent. Let me assure you, Mr. Darcy, that all quality people discount these rumors as outrageous fabrications. I advise you to forgive the rumor mongers but never give any attention to this town or set foot in Meryton again. Such people deserve not any portion of your notice._

 _Finally, far be it for me to resent the behavior of my cousins, but I must relate my sincere apologies for their part in one last rumor: My cousins said that Mr. Bingley and you are simple and have been seeking gentlemen's daughters to improve your stock. Of course I vehemently denied that this could be so, but in a show of ill breeding that hardly comports with them being the daughters of a landed gentlemen (the ranks of which I hope to join soon when Mr. Bennet passes to his eternal reward though he may yet live many years), they laughed and said having babies from idiots was not worth fine dresses and carriages; they preferred military men. I regret to report that despite my attempts to correct their wayward thoughts that my cousins still seem to believe Mr. Wickham's account._

 _However, the Miss Lucases accepted my superior knowledge. I am most pleased with how Miss Lucas is of one mind with me._

 _Mr. Darcy, please accept my humble apology for the behavior of my cousins and the ignorant denizens of Meryton who apparently have not the proper respect for those of rank and their close relatives. Additionally, please excuse me for not having written to you earlier to assure you of the continued good health of her ladyship and that Miss de Bourgh is in tolerable good health._

 _As I understand the discourse between yourself and Lady Catherine is not frequent, I shall endeavor my best to keep you informed of all matters of consequence that occur there._ _I will gladly demean myself further should you have need._

 _I remain your humble servant._

 _William Collins_

As I read this letter, I first felt relief that Mr. Collins would marry another besides Miss Elizabeth (I had worried when I saw her dance the first with him, bumbling fool that he was). However, when he mentioned the entail, this was rapidly replaced with fear for the Miss Bennets' future. I did not want to see Miss Elizabeth become a governess or a paid companion where at best she would have to become meek and unassuming to please her employer and at worse she might be forced to service a master's desires.

There is much evil in the world, and I recalled learning of this particular evil from my cousin Colonel Edwin Fitzwilliam a few years prior, shortly after I completed university. We were discussing the dissipate lifestyle of the Prince Regent (then merely the Prince of Wales), and he told me, "While the Prince has certainly taken mistresses a plenty, I am of the opinion that all of them welcomed him to their beds. That is as it should be. There are men who prey upon women in their employ, who force themselves on others. This is most abhorrent."

I asked, although I suppose I should not have, "What do you mean?"

He took this (as he usually did when I asked, "What do you mean?") as my request for him to educate me.

"Women as the gentler sex are most vulnerable. All is well when they are guarded by kind and diligent men, going from father to husband. However, when forced to seek employment, a woman is now subject to the whims of her employer, either to be protected or molested by him, and there are none to help her if he has ill intent."

Edwin paused and ran his hand through his sandy locks, paced, stopped pacing, bit his top lip and then continued, "Should he decide he requires her to satisfy his baser desires, well there is almost nothing she can do. Should she fight, others will have first-hand knowledge that she is a temptress, a woman of easy virtue; her attempt to prevent his actions will prove that they are lovers and sink her reputation. Should she allow it, the truth will win out sooner or later. When that happens, at best she may be set up elsewhere as his mistress; at worst, she will be expelled from the house with no references while her belly is already swelling with his child. I should know, as the woman who is under my protection was a governess before her employer took unwanted liberties with her, stripped her of respectability and forced her to seek another sort of position. Sylvia would have never sought me out, had this not transpired."

On another occasion Edwin asked me, "Tell me, Fitz, have you known the touch of a woman yet? The Earl and I were discussing the matter and he has charged me with seeing to it if the deed has not been done."

I refused to answer but he was determined, telling me, "Saying nothing answers the question for certain. It is past time by now, Fitz. Let me talk to my Sylvia. I dare say she might educate you in such a thing if I asked her to. You would like her, she was a gentleman's daughter, who has understanding and education. She would be patient and explain and demonstrate well. You do not wish, someday, to marry and have no idea as to how to go about the matter, now, do you?"

I found the whole idea abhorrent. How could he offer her in such a way and why would I want to share such an intimacy with a stranger who was paid to lay with him?

Even a casual touch from a stranger when exchanging a few coins makes me uncomfortable. I startle easily when touched by someone I do not see approach me. I dislike the touch of most people but have learned not to fear it, though George's faked affectionate nudges were distasteful to me.

With those whom I am comfortable, a simple touch causes no distress. I liked the embrace of my mother, Nurse Storey, and Georgiana. I had no difficult accepting Edwin's more manly thumps of approval if I did something well. Professor Hanson's congratulatory shaking of my hand or clasp of my shoulder was pleasant enough. I can lounge next to Bingley with perfect comfort and tolerate with no distress his sisters on my arms when I escort them.

I told Edwin, "I have no wish to violate God's laws. A man should cleave to his wife and no other."

Edwin laughed at me, "Good ol' Fitz, rigid and upright as always, following the law to the letter and all. You need to relax and enjoy the pleasures of life more. But I suppose you are not ready yet. Come see me when you are, and I will arrange everything."

I said nothing, determined that I should never seek him out for such a purpose. Why should there be anything wrong in rigidity when it comes to following God's commands? If anything, Edwin was the one who needed to change his actions.

I suppose my silence was answer enough as then he let me be (perhaps he believed I would come to him eventually).

The idea that Miss Elizabeth might someday be placed in a position like Sylvia's was horrifying. Surely it would be better if I sought Miss Elizabeth's hand in marriage; knowing her vulnerability to having to seek employment someday when her father was gone, surely she would accept even if she had no love for me. But then a small part of me wondered, would she accept if she was one of the Miss Bennets who had been saying such cruel things, and would I want her to?

While I did not know the younger Miss Bennets well, I knew Miss Lucas was Miss Elizabeth's particular friend. I hoped Miss Elizabeth had no part in such cruel rumors, but I also had no desire to visit Netherfield or the surrounding environs again and find out for certain that she had.

I shared the letter with Bingley. He commented, "How could any sensible person believe and repeat such rumors? I cannot believe that the elder Miss Bennets could have any part in such lies."

I was less certain. I asked Bingley, "Given Mr. Collins's volubility, why would he not tell me if the reaction of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth was to defend us and oppose their younger sisters in this?"

Bingley sighed and said, "I do not know, 'tis most strange. Miss Bennet has always seemed most kind. I cannot imagine her being cruel to anyone; it does not fit her character. It cannot have escaped your knowledge that I have grown most fond of her and have even come to believe that perhaps Miss Bennet shares my affection. I had planned to return already, but my sisters always seem to have a reason that I should stay.

"When I imagine returning to Netherfield, it begins with immediately accepting Mrs. Bennet's dinner invitation and dining beside Miss Bennet. In the course of the dinner, somehow I am reassured that she holds me in affection and then I imagine after dinner, by chance, having a quiet moment with her in which I ask her to be my bride. However, I want no bride that is inconstant in her character, that is pleasing when seeking to impress but cruel behind one's back. Surely if it is the younger sisters relating these thoughts, the elders might quell and correct them even if their mother would not. I have no desire to dwell in a place where they do not properly value you, Darcy, as you deserve."

Bingley also told me, "It seems that I was too quick to think well of the inhabitants of that hamlet. I fear I made a grave mistake in encouraging you to join me there."

I considered the interactions I had observed between Bingley and Miss Bennet. "I cannot recall any particular sign of affection from Miss Bennet towards you." But I also reminded him, "I am not a good judge of such things in the best of circumstances and was distracted by Miss Elizabeth."

He smiled then and said, "I noticed your affection for her, but unhappily it now appeared we are both crossed in love."

Later we had dinner at the Hursts' town-home. Bingley inquired of his sisters, "What is your opinion of Miss Bennet?"

Miss Bingley declared, "She is a sweet girl, however I would advise you to stay away from her, as given her family, it would be a most unfortunate connection."

Mrs. Hurst nodded and agreed, "Most unfortunate."

Later, during the separation, when we had drinks with Mr. Hurst, he told Bingley, "That Miss Bennet is quite a beautiful woman. If I was a single man looking for a bride, I would not mind to marry her and get at her apple dumplin shop."

Bingley pinked a little but later he asked me, "Do you think I was predisposed to think well of Miss Bennet because she is so lovely, to allow my desires to rule over my head?"

I shrugged; I had no answers.

In the next few days, Mr. Bingley's sisters kept us busy by shopping for furniture we did not need. I considered this current occupation ample excuse for why I had not yet replied to Mr. Collins's missive. In truth, I could have found the time to write him back, but I had no wish to associate myself with that groveling sycophant.

However, finally reason won out. I told myself I was responding because my mother had always stressed the importance of replying to correspondence and I wished to be sort of son my mother deserved. However, the truth was, I finally wrote back because Mr. Collins was currently my only link to Miss Elizabeth.

I kept my reply short but cordial. I congratulated him on his good fortune in his betrothal to Miss Lucas, thanked him for bringing the matter of Mr. Wickham's falsehoods to my attention and wished good health to himself, his cousins, and all his relations.

While I dared not mention Miss Elizabeth specifically, those well wishes were entirely for her. I dearly wished I'd had a chance to talk with Miss Elizabeth and explain what George Wickham was about and why I acted as I did. If only she had given a hint that she desired that, I would have hope and be willing to bear the open derision that I feared awaited me in Meryton.


	15. 13: Mrs Skeffington's Just Desserts

**Chapter 13: Mrs. Skeffington's Just Desserts**

A few days later, at a dinner which I was hosting for Bingley, Miss Bingley and the Hursts at my house, Bingley surprised us with an announcement. He told us, "I have decided to return to Netherfield. I intend to discover whether Miss Bennet has any true regard for me."

Miss Bingley protested, "But Charles it is but a few days shy of Christmas and I hoped Darcy and dear Georgiana might be persuaded to enjoy some of the festivities with us."

Mrs. Hurst added, gentler in her tone of address than her sister, "The Christmas season is no time to be away from close friends and family, to have no one but servants near."

Bingley responded, "I would rather miss your merrymaking than miss a chance at love."

While they continued to protest, Bingley held firm. Finally, when there was a momentary lull, Georgiana said, "This Miss Bennet must be special."

Bingley graced her with a beatific smile and said, "Yes she is." Although I had often seen Bingley in love before, he had a different earnestness about him this time.

The next day Bingley came to see me on his way out of town. He asked me, "Do you think I am being a fool? You may tell me if you like, but it shan't change my plans."

I replied, "I do not know, but you are braver than I. Foolish or not, I have no wish to dissuade you from your errand. Good luck and God speed." I clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile.

Just before he mounted his horse, I imagined Miss Elizabeth before me, beckoning me to join her beneath a kissing bough; I would pluck one of the white berries of mistletoe and kiss her on the cheek. I dismissed this sudden fancy as very unlikely, although it would not surprise me if Mrs. Bennet had kissing boughs a plenty at Longbourn. I had no reason to believe that Miss Elizabeth would encourage such a show of affection from me; Bingley was more likely to be the recipient of such good fortune from Miss Bennet than I was from her sister.

I had a sudden desire to accompany Bingley and wished that he might ask me to come with him. But my wish had no effect. If Bingley had, of his own volition, asked me to accompany him, I would have gone without hesitation, justifying that I was doing it in service of a friend.

Had I asked to go with him, I did not doubt that Bingley would welcome my company. I almost called out, "Wait!" But the words remained unvoiced. I knew it would not be right to leave Georgiana at this time of year. And, thus, he took his seat and rode away.

During the Christmas season I was busy in London appearing at some amusements arranged by my aunt, wife of the Earl, and accepting invitations for events hosted by others that she deemed important. As always, her son Edwin was to squire me to and fro but I begged off many in favor of sedate evenings at my house, spent with my sister Georgiana and her companion.

In a quiet moment when it was just the two of us, I asked Georgiana, "Do you remember Bingley speaking about Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, brother. It is so romantic that he is returning to pursue her!" She clasped her hands tightly together in front of her chest and beamed. Her smile and gesture seemed almost child-like in its unbounded enthusiasm and reminded me of the Georgiana of old, before Mother passed and George dimmed her light further.

"Well, she is not the only Miss Bennet. She is one of five sisters. When I was in Hertfordshire, I became partial to the second sister, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Georgiana clapped her hands and her smile grew even wider, unfashionably so (I remembered overhearing Miss Bingley advise Georgiana on the proper way to smile). She asked, as I had been asking myself more and more as the days passed, "Why did you not go back to pursue her as Mr. Bingley did his love?"

I stared at my knees. "She is not my love and I doubt she holds me in regard. You know how things can be difficult for me, but she has another reason to think poorly of me besides my own behavior."

"What happened?"

I hesitated in revealing more but chanced a quick glance at Georgiana. She was leaning forward, her brow slightly tensed. She was waiting for an answer.

"Well?"

I finally decided to trust that Georgiana was strong enough to hear talk of him. "It must just be a nasty coincidence but appearing there with apparently no better occupation for his spare time, but to circulate nasty gossip to plague me again and have me at sixes and sevens was George Wickham, lately a lieutenant in the local militia! I fear George's lies about our association have poisoned her against me and cost me any chance I might have had to earn Miss Elizabeth's regard."

I hated bringing up his hateful name to her but if I had not shielded her from all of George's actions while we were at school and university, she would have never been the victim of his ploy. I do not know how I was expecting her to react, perhaps curse his name, perhaps look sad, but she did something wholly unexpected instead.

Georgiana slid closer to me on the sofa, wrapped her slim arms around me and told me, "Brother, it is my solemn vow that I will do all I can to correct Miss Elizabeth's misapprehensions if given the opportunity."

I felt tears prickle my eyes. It was just so unexpected to have her as my ally and receive her devotion. I did not cry, though, and excused my emotions to myself as relating to the anniversary which was approaching.

The Christmas season without our mother was painful as she had gained her eternal reward but days after the previous holiday. While I tried to not remember the date, December 29 was forever etched in my mind.

In many ways Mother had finally come into her own unfettered by my father's iron will and the interference of his domineering sister, Matilda Skeffington, only a few years earlier. It had not been easy for her, though.

Thinking of mother's death put to my mind how much she had mourned for my father when he was gone, how the love that connected them made her suffer from its absence. This made me think about how I might never know both the pleasure of being with the one I loved and the resulting pain that would someday befall one of us when the other was gone. I wished, earnestly, that I might not live my life alone, that I might find a bride I could love as my father had loved my mother, someone who would love me in return. Georgiana, bless her kind heart, tried to distract me from my morose thoughts with lively tunes and games.

When my father had passed, my mother was deeply depressed and passive when she needed to take charge. I had attempted to complete my last term at university after attending his funeral, although sad about his passing I had much more mixed feelings about his death given our complicated relationship but felt I could carry on, but I was summoned home mere weeks later by Georgiana's missive. She was surprisingly coherent for a girl barely eleven who had just begun corresponding with me months before, mostly to enclose her latest drawings.

She wrote, "Please come home brother, Aunt Matty has changed everything and mother will not eat. Aunt Matty says because she is father's sister she is in charge."

I answered my sister's request not with a letter but with my presence as soon as I could pen a quick note explaining my absence and get to my horse. My first concern was for the health of my mother and as soon as I alighted, even before refreshing myself from the road, I was striding to Mother's chambers and knocking on the door. It was of course not seemly for me to see my mother in her chambers, but the timid maid who opened the door apparently understood I would not be gainsaid as she admitted me. The sight that awaited me was worse than I had anticipated. Mother was in bed and even through the concealment of her bedclothes, I could tell that she was beyond thin to gaunt.

"Mother!" I cried, walking to her side, "You must eat more. We cannot lose you, too."

The smile she had given me faltered. "Fitz, I will try." She shrugged and gestured to a plate set on a side table, that contained kippers and beans, two items of food that my mother abhorred. The smell of the cured fish was overwhelming and made me anxious to get it away from her.

"But why?"

"Your Aunt Matilda likes them, I suppose."

I told her maid to take her plate away and to fetch something else. "Toast," my mother requested, "toast with jam."

After I refreshed myself and washed the dust from me, I decided I needed to gather more information about the running of Pemberley and what food was being served. I went in search of Mrs. Reynolds as I knew she would know what was occurring. But even before I located her, I saw many signs that Aunt Matilda Skeffington was ordering Pemberley for her own pleasure, apparently having appointed herself both master and mistress. Artwork had been changed, furniture rearranged, and even Father's desk had her stationary upon it, and his substantial desk chair was gone, replaced with one of a more feminine design. It was not to be borne and yet I was fearful of how it would be when I confronted her, as I knew I must.

I was used to deferring to Aunt Matilda. She was very like my father, tall with dark hair (only touched with streaks of white by her temples as his had been before he died), dark eyes and a commanding presence. Although for a few years I had towered over her, she always felt larger than me. I could not help but remember all the times she had loomed over me and directed what I was to do. She was the instrument through which my father's wishes were carried out when he was otherwise engaged.

I suppose it would have been more appropriate to send a servant for Mrs. Reynolds, but many of the servants I saw about were unfamiliar to me. It is very difficult for me to talk to people I do not know well, and I thought it would be easier to find Mrs. Reynolds for myself than to talk with these servants. While I have known Mrs. Reynolds almost my whole life, I had few interactions speaking with her and certainly none as the master. I would have to set the tone for our new relationship without understanding all the clues that govern human interactions.

When I found Mrs. Reynolds, I told her, "I need to speak to you about all the changes at Pemberley." She nodded. I said nothing more as we gained my father's office. Once the door was closed, I gestured for her to sit. I half leaned half sat on the front edge of the desk, rather than sit in Aunt Matilda's chair with its distracting baroque details and its floral upholstery. I asked Mrs. Reynolds, "Please explain the changes in the menu."

Mrs. Reynolds told me, "Mrs. Skeffington hired Mrs. Lock to be the head cook without my knowledge and demoted Mrs. Richards. All the menus were changed at Mrs. Skeffington's direction and she even went so far as dictating what foods should be served to Lady Anne for each meal."

Mrs. Reynolds further told me, tears glistening in her eyes, her voice altered from its typical calm certainty, "I tried to consult with Lady Anne about these changes but she had not the strength to oppose anything or take an interest in the affairs of the house in her grief, so she told me to let Mrs. Skeffington have her way and let her be."

I found myself leaning forward to clasp Mrs. Reynolds hand, to offer reassurance. I doubt I had ever touched her before. I told her, "I will see to changing things."

"I am so glad you are home Mr. Darcy. Should we start by changing that chair?"

"Certainly," I replied, pleased to be called Mr. rather than Master Darcy, pleased that she wanted me to take my place as master.

She called for a servant and gave the footman who responded instructions. Once the original chair was firmly in place, I sat down and felt my anxiety ease a bit.

"Mr. Darcy, is there anything further you require?" The footman who brought the chair asked.

"Yes, I require the attendance of the new and old head cooks. Let us begin with the new."

"Mrs. Lock," Mrs. Reynolds clarified, "get also Mrs. Richards, but have her wait outside."

I did not converse with Mrs. Reynolds in the interval. Instead as we waited, I practiced what I would say to Mrs. Lock most carefully in my mind. I felt better that Mrs. Reynolds was there but knew this was my responsibility.

When Mrs. Lock arrived, I told her, "Mrs. Lock I regret to inform you that henceforth you shall no longer serve as head cook as your hiring was unauthorized."

She tried to protest, but I silenced her by declaring, "I am the master here and it is my decision. You may either remain as the second in charge or receive a letter of reference, but you are to take no further orders from Mrs. Skeffington." I dismissed her from my presence, telling her, "Send in Mrs. Richards.

After reinstating Mrs. Richards, I conveyed my worries for my mother's health to both her and Mrs. Reynolds. Mrs. Richards nodded and said, "Since Mr. Darcy died, God rest his soul, it is not unusual for Lady Anne's dishes to be returned still bearing food that looks untouched. I have tried to make Mrs. Lock send more appropriate meals to Lady Anne, but she only takes direction from Mrs. Skeffington. It has been better since Mrs. Reynolds suggested that Miss Darcy dine with her. I regularly send tea and biscuits to Lady Anne's room during the day, but little of it is consumed; her maid says that when Miss Darcy is not around that Lady Anne mostly stays abed. Mrs. Skeffington orders lavish meals for herself and her guests."

I responded, "This state of affairs cannot continue. My mother needs regular meals." I then ordered, "Henceforth the menus will be returned to their previous state with one exception: Anything you or anyone on staff may remember or discover as being particularly toothsome to my mother shall be added at once. There shall be no more lavish meals without my or my mother's direction. Any guests of Mrs. Skeffington, if they cannot be dissuaded from visiting or partaking of a meal here while our household is in mourning, will be served the ordinary household meals."

While mother, as was usual, dined in her room with Georgiana, I properly dressed for dinner that night. When I arrived to escort my Aunt Matilda to the table, I noted to my displeasure that she was entertaining guests: Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair, Mrs. Wickham and two apparently single gentlemen that were unknown to me. I was only slightly acquainted with any but Mrs. Wickham. It was curious to me that Mr. Wickham senior was not in attendance. Perhaps if he had been, Mrs. Wickham would not be sitting squeezed between the two gentlemen on a sofa. Although Mr. St. Clair attempted to engage me in conversation, telling me, "Mr. Darcy is missed," I made no response but a slight incline of my head and quelled further conversation with a look.

When the footmen arrived with the one course meal, consisting of soup, bread and a humble cottage pie, I heard Aunt Matilda apologize to her guests, "There must be some kind of error. This is not the meal I ordered. It will all be better after the next remove. I must go speak to Mrs. Lock."

She was in the process of getting up when I addressed her in the most formal and cold tone I could muster. "Madam, the meal is as _I_ requested. There will be no remove and Mrs. Lock has no authority over the kitchen now. Your guests must be satisfied with what is set before them."

I saw her look of surprise and perhaps horror, but she resumed her seat and acted a proper hostess. Mrs. Wickham ignored us both and carried on a discussion with the men near her. I noticed she played with what appeared to be an emerald on a fine gold chain nestled in her décolletage, a gem that Mr. Wickham should not have been able to afford unless I was mistaken and it was paste. The man on her right seemed to show more interest in her and from my position at the head of the table, I heard her ask him, "Do I have something in my teeth, Mr. Needs?" She stretched out his name into "Neeeeeeeds." She leaned close to him, opened her mouth wide and bared her upper teeth, running her tongue over her lower lip. He leaned in toward her, his eyes roaming freely.

"Your teeth are fine," he responded. Then he leaned close and whispered in her ear. She giggled like she was a young maid. I felt sick in seeing this. Mr. Wickham was a good and loyal steward; he did not deserve to be treated like this by his wife. Memories from my childhood flashed before me and formed a picture that I did not like. With the wisdom of an adult, I understood now that Mrs. Wickham was not a loyal wife. My foul mood worsened.

I turned my gaze away from them and tried to focus on the other guests. I did not more than my bare duty to them, saying nothing that was not necessary. My stony visage served me well as none dared exchange more than a few words with me. When the meal concluded, the guests made excuses and departed. I noticed that Mrs. Wickham was escorted out by Mr. Needs. She clung too tightly to his arm and continued to giggle and carry on.

My aunt had the gall to confront me after they all left. She yelled, "You embarrassed me in front of my guests. How dare you usurp my role and change my meals! While a simpleton like you may enjoy meat from a previous meal disguised with potatoes in a pie, persons of consequence expect better!"

By doing so she provided me the very words I needed correct her. I faintly heard her continued diatribe, but I ignored it and did not respond immediately while I collected my thoughts and planned my words.

"Madam, a woman of consequence would not entertain guests so shortly after her brother's passing with food provided from said dead man's coffers to try to impress the simpletons who believe it appropriate to ignore her lapse in propriety in issuing said invitations by accepting them. A woman of consequence would not help Mrs. Wickham arrange her adulteries. A woman of consequence would not ignore her sister's suffering and add to it with food she cannot stomach. A woman of consequence would not bully servants who have served her family with true loyalty for many years. You try my patience, madam."

"You are no true master of Pemberley," Mrs. Skeffington said with a smirk. "My brother counted on me and not you to protect his legacy. You must give proper deference to your superiors in age and wisdom. I have known you since the cradle, watched each unnatural interest emerge, the ribbons and the like. You required a firm hand to improve at all. Your father coddled you overmuch by not allowing your governess free rein and look what has resulted, a man whom others deride who should be resident in an asylum, not polluting our line."

As my aunt voiced her terrible words, she stared at me with her dark eyes, barely blinking. Her eyes were so like my father's eyes, and at that moment resembled lumps of coal. I knew she wished me to look away as I typically would, to best me with her stare alone. I forced myself to stare back at her, to meet her gaze rather than look slightly above, though I felt an almost physical pain, as if I were being seared with a blacksmith's hot iron, in having her eyes upon me.

I began shaking with the terrible intensity of her words, her stare. I felt such powerful anger well up from me that I desired to strike her. I remembered how my tantrums erupted in the nursery when my words did nothing to stop Governess Hayes; I remembered the walls I had broken in the school room when I could not voice a correct answer and George sneered at me when Mr. Stowbaugh was not watching; I remembered the broken-down old cart I had ripped pieces off of with my hands until they bled when I raged like a wild beast. Fortunately, I was sufficiently master of myself that I did nothing then but press the palms of my hands against my thighs for a few moments to try to still them, as I gathered all the hate within me and directed it to my mouth, my tongue.

A deep voice, loud and angry but controlled burst out of me, "Madam, you will live at Pemberley no more!" I forced myself to walk away, past her, her threats and entreaties ignored, down a hall and then out into the gardens. All I wanted to do was to run and hide myself away, but instead I forced myself with measured steps to walk towards the woods.

When I was finally away from everything and everyone, I gave voice to every obscenity I knew, called her every vile name possible that could be applied to a woman, even those that made no sense relative to her or those terms that I did not truly understand (such as "laced mutton," "fusty lugs," "crone," "ape leader" and "strumpet") until I finally exhausted the extensive vocabulary I had learned at university, until all my words were all used up. Then I screamed and screamed until my voice was ragged.

Even then, I still shook with pent up rage. I wanted to hit and kick but knew I would only hurt myself. I forced myself to walk deeper into the forest, to name each type of tree as I saw it. As the names tumbled from my lips, I began to calm. I had named perhaps two dozen trees or more before I finally turned around. I named these self-same trees as I retraced my steps, noticing some small seedlings I had missed before. When I reentered Pemberley, I was able to think with more rationality.

In my chambers, I considered what was true. I knew who the master was, and it was not her but me. There were no terms in my father's will giving Mrs. Skeffington authority. Pemberley belonged to me and me alone, and to my heirs thereafter. While his will contained monetary provisions for my mother and sister and gave Edwin a small estate, all that it provided for Mrs. Skeffington was the return of the last property her husband had sold to my father, when mismanagement and overspending had required they retrench and live on my father's largess. My father, in separate documents, had set out plans for what was due those he cared for: the living for George Wickham, a place in Pemberley for Mrs. Skeffington for her life, eventually cottages for Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Richards which were to be fully staffed and paid for should they desire to leave the main house when they were too elderly to carry out their duties. The Wickhams were to keep the steward's house even after he could serve in that position no more; I was to build a new home for his replacement. However, these plans were only recommendations that had no force of law.

The following day, I instructed the butler with the arrangements I had decided on for Mrs. Skeffington (she did not deserve the appellation of "aunt"). She was to be removed with only her personal possessions to her property three counties away, along with the floral chair which she had apparently purchased with Pemberley's funds (I had no use for it and it seemed wasteful to consign it to a fire). While they did so, I remained in my room. She had a portion of her dowry and some support from her departed husband he had retained by living with us, so she could do well enough if she conserved. I resolved to think on her no more.

I had hope that my mother might improve with more appropriate food, but it seemed she only ate when Georgiana was present. When I saw my mother, her hair was lank, her face almost blank. I felt she was resolved to leave us; I did not know what to do to keep her from the grave.

It was my sister who happened on a solution, however. She told me, "I do not like to leave mother. She tries when I am near; otherwise she stays a bed. Do you suppose I could take my lessons in her rooms? And also, I know she has no wish to venture into the dining room, but perhaps there is a way we can all eat upstairs together?"

I thought her ideas to be most elegant solutions and as master of the estate I was the one who could implement them at once, but I would need my mother's cooperation. Fortunately, I believed I knew how to cajole her compliance with such a plan. Although she was far from well, Mother kept insisting, "Fitz, you must return to university and finish your education."

After consulting with Mrs. Reynolds, we converted a bedroom across from the master's and mistress's chambers into a room suitable for our purposes. Well-appointed furniture was placed about the room as well as a round table with chairs which was suitable for intimate dining and for my sister's more academic lessons.

I told my mother, "It falls to you to oversee Georgiana's education, I must insist that you are present for her lessons in this new room. Also, we shall the three of us dine together here, too, breakfast, tea and dinner. If I see that you are eating appropriately and making sure Georgiana is learning all that she ought, well then in a week or two I will feel I can return to Cambridge."

My mother made an effort, she truly did. After one week she insisted, "Fitz, you are leaving on the morrow for Cambridge; I shall be fine, Georgiana and all the staff shall see to it."

I did as she bid, however I made certain that I was to be informed immediately if she strayed from eating or engaging with my sister. In such a manner was I able to finish my last term, was at Cambridge to offer what comfort I could to Bingley when he learned that his father had died.


	16. 14: Heartbreak and Hope

**I am super pleased to be able to give you another chapter today!**

 **Chapter 14: Heartbreak and Hope**

A few days after my quiet Christmas in London with Georgiana, Bingley came to see me. He was not his normal good-humored self. I was curious as to how he had enjoyed his recent stay at Netherfield and what the result had been. I had expected a letter announcing his courtship if not engagement, if I could make it out from his blottings and unfinished thoughts, not the man himself and certainly not the troubled man before me. I longed for any intelligence about Miss Elizabeth, no matter how slight, but needed to wait and discover how I could help him first.

Bingley sighed several times before he began his tale. "At first my return to Netherfield was everything it ought to be. The servants were happy to be of service, the neighbors called, and I returned their calls. I had a family dinner with the Bennets and their relatives, the Gardiners. This was most pleasant as Mr. Gardiner knew my father; I recalled he supplied my father with the materials for his carriage seats. Miss Bennet was everything proper and appeared happy to see me.

"The next time I called, it was too cold for walking in the garden. Mrs. Bennet made sure I was left alone with Miss Bennet save for Miss Mary who was playing the piano which muffled anything we might say. Miss Bennet inquired after my sisters. She told me they wrote her upon my last departure and again from London. She asked about you and told me that my sisters seemed to anticipate a closer connection between me and your sister."

I found myself becoming a bit agitated; Georgiana had not yet had her come out and Bingley had never been anything but brotherly toward her.

"Do not fear," he told me, "I corrected her misapprehension. But then she stated, 'I am most happy that you returned alone.' While explained she was certain the intelligence that Mr. Wickham had shared regarding you in his exchanges with herself and her sisters must be exaggerated and the result of misunderstandings, she told me, 'I was uncertain as to what Mr. Darcy's welcome would be if he returned as well.'"

He sighed then, loosened his cravat a bit from his neck and took a deep breath. "I thought then that she was simply grateful that you had not returned as well to face an uncertain reception or possible derision from the ignorant but what she said next was very troubling." He took another deep breath, rubbed at his eyes and unfolded and refolded his handkerchief.

"She said, 'I am glad your association with that man,'—imagine she reduced you to 'that man' just as you might refer to the man who mucks manure out from a horse's stall, or the man who begs on the street, a phrase with no dignity—'is not as close as I believed.' She told me, 'Mr. Bingley, I know you are generous of spirit and have attempted to help that man achieve normalcy. But surely you know such attempts are bound to fail. I am most concerned that a close association with such a man could hurt you.' She then laid a hand on my lower arm, I believe in either an attempt to comfort me or to demonstrate her regard, but I removed it with my other hand. I quickly made my excuses and left. I was a coward not to defend you immediately and I hope you can forgive that."

I made all the proper assurances and absolved him of that guilt, and he continued his account.

"As I had no hostess, I could not invite Miss Bennet's family to my home and at that moment I was glad that propriety in such a circumstance would also prevent her from calling on me. I knew I needed to talk to her once more without heightening her expectations as might happen if I called soon again."

Again, he paused before proceeding. I wished in that moment that I might understand what he was feeling.

"I had my opportunity at a dinner hosted by the Lucases three days before Christmas. Besides the Bennets and I, the officers were invited as well. I believe I glared at Mr. Wickham and, thus, he knew to avoid me the best he could. After the meal we played lottery together and Mrs. Bennet out maneuvered Mrs. Lucas, who attempted to seat me with the remaining Miss Lucas. In addition to Miss Bennet our table had Miss Mary and Mr. Denny. Our table finished before the others when Mr. Denny learned Sir Lucas was serving port and left.

"Once again Mrs. Bennet conspired to give us privacy, while others were present, to speak. Miss Bennet told me, 'I am glad to have a moment with you, Mr. Bingley. I must apologize for any offense I may have given you in speaking of your friend, Mr. Darcy.'—it seemed that then you were elevated to Mr. Darcy again—'Mr. Bingley, you are a very kind person, it is clear. You see only the best in others; it is an admirable characteristic to be sure.' I think by doing this, she thought all would be forgiven, that I would warm toward her once more."

"But you did not," I commented.

"No, I did not. What was more telling was what Miss Bennet did not say; she did not apologize for how she thought about you and she did not seek to find out more about you from me. When I looked at her in that moment her beauty remained unchanged, but any desire I had to bind myself with her had vanished. If she could not see your value as a person, she would be no wife of mine."

I nodded but made no comment, just gave his arm a brief squeeze to thank him for his unwavering support.

"Later, she stood beneath a kissing bower located above a window at the Lucases. She looked at me and subtly beckoned, but I pretended to be oblivious. She stood there so long that eventually Mr. Denny, who had returned to our table a bit inebriated, noticed her presence. He told me, 'Do you see where Miss Bennet is standing? I will give you first crack, but if you will not claim a kiss, I will be happy to do so in your stead.' Before if any had expressed interest in her, I would have felt jealousy, but just then it did not matter in the least to me.

"Before I could decide whether to make a response or let my silence speak for itself, Miss Maria Lucas suggested, 'Will you not claim a kiss from Jane?' I shook my head in negation and then saw how quickly Miss Bennet moved from her spot when Mr. Denny approached her. Many young maids received kisses that night, including Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia. The officers were very free in claiming kisses, though most limited their kisses to the maidens' cheeks, all but Mr. Wickham. But I had no regret in not claiming any."

Bingley seemed calmer now, but I had no idea what he was feeling.

"I remained long enough to time my departure with that of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny. I confronted Mr. Wickham and told him, 'Lieutenant Wickham, you need to quit telling lies about Mr. Darcy and properly respect the virtue of the maidens of Meryton.'

"Mr. Wickham tried to make a joke of it saying," (and here he imitated Wickham's voice, rising high as he was wont to do when making fun of me), "'Does Bitsy have his breeches in a bind? What young miss here caught his eye? Should I retreat it would not improve his chances! No woman of quality would want to be bound to that imbecile.'

"I told Mr. Denny, 'You had better remove the lieutenant from my sight. It is only my respect for king, country and the uniform he wears, that is sparing him from my fists. I doubt the ladies would like him half as well with broken teeth and a busted nose.' Mr. Wickham quickly retreated, showing that he is a yellow-bellied cur.

"I was not amused and resolved to myself to do what I could to correct the misapprehension of the townsfolk on my final day in Meryton. I had already met with my staff to remind them, 'As you well know, Mr. Darcy is a man worthy of the utmost respect. I will not retain anyone spreading gossip about my friend. I am depending upon you all to do your best to discredit misinformation concerning Mr. Darcy with your accounts from having known him.'

"On that final day I visited several shops to buy small items to brighten my staff's holiday before releasing them for Christmas. In each shop I made sure to spend some time in conversation with the owner or a prominent customer and mention something to improve your reputation or sink Mr. Wickham's. I commented upon your aid in managing Netherfield, I commented on Pemberley's success, I spoke of the generosity as a friend. Nothing I said was untrue.

"I do not believe your reputation to be in as much jeopardy as you may have feared from Mr. Collins's letter. Many times, someone approached me to tell me that they did not believe the idle gossip and thought ill of Mr. Wickham for attempting to deride the private dealings of the family who had employed his father." He paused once more but this time it seemed to be the contented pause of someone who has just completed an arduous task.

"One more thing I need to tell you. At the last gathering I attended at the Lucases, I had a most interesting exchange with Miss Elizabeth. When she approached me, I expected she would be bearing a message from Miss Bennet (whose eyes time and time again rested upon me). But instead Miss Elizabeth told me, 'I regret not having a final conversation with Mr. Darcy. Would you please convey my best wishes for Mr. Darcy's health and happiness?' Of course, I told her I would. Mayhap you will have more luck with her then I with her sister."

I pondered the meaning of Miss Elizabeth's words to me as passed on from Bingley many times, but came to no definite conclusions. Sometimes I get stuck on something, my mind running in an endless loop and that is how it was for me with this. I imagined many times how we might have that talk but each scenario for how I could arrange to meet with her seemed more outlandish.

I had no reason to go to Meryton. Bingley was absent and would most probably give up the lease and either leave purchasing an estate for the next generation or try again elsewhere. I had naught but indifferent acquaintances there.

If I made the trip merely to call on Miss Elizabeth (whom I had never called on before, I had not so much as ever visited Longbourn, could claim no real acquaintance with Mr. Bennet), I would cause unwelcome talk and perhaps be viewed as even odder than before. I had no real reason to believe Miss Elizabeth had any more interest in me than to clear up her confusion as to my character. While I did not see her, I could have hope that she returned my regard rather than receive confirmation that she did not. Thus, I did not act but hoped for God or providence to provide a solution.

My wishes seemed to perhaps be gratified through the receipt of another letter from Mr. Collins in late January. After the usual salutation, it began:

 _After Mrs. Collins and I returned to Hunsford on the occasion of our wedding, I was most gratified to immediately be invited for a dinner at Rosings before we had yet spent even one night in our abode. We have both benefited greatly from Lady Catherine's diligent instruction and interest in our affairs. She instructed us on the proper way to care of our cows and poultry and encouraged Mrs. Collins to bear me a son before the conclusion of 1812. We are most grateful and gratified for her interest in her lowly rector and his wife._

I skimmed through his many flowery phrases to see if he had anything significant to tell me. I was rewarded by finding that just before the conclusion of his letter, the following information:

 _Mrs. Collins and I have the expectation in March of receiving visitors to our humble abode. Sir William Lucas with my new sister and Mrs. Collins's friend shall be visiting in March. We hope to exchange many happy returns with you when you visit Lady Catherine and your betrothed at Easter._ _I also look forward to becoming acquainted with another one of my esteemed patroness's nephews as I understand that Colonel Fitzwilliam shall be joining you._

I wondered but had no way of knowing who the friend might be. As Miss Elizabeth was Mrs. Collins's particular friend, I dearly hoped it would be she.


	17. Interlude 2: Mrs Collins: A Bird in Hand

**As I have posted a couple of chapters in the past couple of days, make sure you have read them before you read this one.**

 **Interlude 2: Mrs. Collins: A Bird in Hand**

The Bennet sisters are fools. While I love my dear friend Eliza, she may be the biggest fool of them all.

I give the elder two Miss Bennets leave to be a bit foolish given their beauty. A woman may rightfully have a little leeway for a time if she can attract attention though her appearance without any effort. However, by twenty and beyond she must grow wise and deliberate, rather than indulge her stubbornness and folly. Dreaming of love for a little while is all well and good, but eventually each woman must do what she can to gain a secure future. That means she should analyze the marital possibilities around her and pursue a prudent match with a man that she can secure.

It is not as if Eliza (and Jane also) does not know that all the comforts on which she relies could be snatched away at any moment by the passing of her father. She depends on him overmuch when she should know, must know, that a woman is to leave the home of her mother and father and cleave to a husband instead. That is just how this life is.

I thought Eliza had it in her mind to try to secure Colonel Forster's interest when, at the party given by my parents, she encouraged him to give a ball. This was subtly flirtatious. However, to my surprise it was at this juncture that I felt hope that Eliza might attract an even more superior suitor, as I first observed Mr. Darcy's interest in her, attending to their conversation in a fixed way.

Mr. Darcy may not be the most pleasant fellow and is decidedly odd, but he has the means to give her a life of leisure and provide bountifully for her children. He is also quite handsome and there is something to be said for a man who is mostly silent.

Eliza's arch manner toward him was obviously, at least to me, one of disdain but fortunately for her Mr. Darcy did not seem to understand that.

I took the opportunity to have her display her talents for him before she could do something to make him think the better of his admiration. She always gives pleasing performances on the piano forte and I thought this might further incline Mr. Darcy toward her.

Then, as she was playing, I had a word with my father. I asked, "Papa, if the opportunity should arise, could you encourage Mr. Darcy toward Eliza?" He was quick to agree as I expected, for nothing gives my father more delight than to help pair up likely matches, though he has quite despaired of doing the same for me.

My father did his best, by suggesting that Mr. Darcy dance with Eliza. It was clear to me that the man was willing, yet Eliza snubbed him once again. Mr. Darcy must be a glutton for punishment or must truly be enamored with her.

The following day I discussed Eliza's prospects with her, first saying, "I think you have gained a worthy admirer."

"Yes," she said dreamily and then proceeded to regale me with her thoughts about Lieutenant Wickham. I was flummoxed, unable to understand how Lieutenant Wickham could have turned Eliza's head. Eliza seemed as silly as young Lydia when she told me, "Oh how I admire Lieutenant Wickham's person, countenance, air and walk above all the other officers!"

She would not listen to me when I tried to explain to her the folly of such an aspiration, "Eliza why do you wish to gain his fancy? Mr. Wickham is not even the best of who the militia has to offer in a potential husband. Colonel Forster is a vastly superior choice to Mr. Wickham as he has property and a higher rank combined with good character. If you desire a military man, it is he who you should wish to catch, not Lieutenant Wickham."

Eliza laughed at me and offered, while clasping my hand in hers and looking at me most earnestly, "He is far too old, almost as old as my papa, but he might do for you. Dear Charlotte, if your heart is engaged, I wish you good fortune in gaining Colonel Forster's approbation."

I knew as well as she that it was hopeless. If I had any belief that he might be obtainable, I would have surely done that, but as with many men his eyes slid past me to her when we were together.

Eliza babbled on and on about Mr. Wickham, telling me, "Mr. Wickham would be a good match for me if only Mr. Darcy had not stolen what was rightfully his."

I knew it was hopeless to argue with her about that subject. I thought that if Eliza knew that Mr. Darcy was under her power, she might consider him further. I told her, quite plainly, "Can you not see that Mr. Darcy is enamored of you? You must act while he feels this way and secure him."

Again she laughed, "Perhaps you need spectacles, Charlotte. Mr. Darcy only stares at me to find fault with me; remember, I am not handsome enough to tempt him."

After Eliza's sojourn at Netherfield, I kept my opinions about her potential suitors to myself. It was clear that Colonel Forster was no longer an object, as everyone had heard he was to be married, but I still thought she had an opportunity to catch Mr. Darcy.

The day before the ball, Eliza again discussed with me her admiration of Mr. Wickham. She dreamily told me of her hope he would solicit her hand for the first two dances at the Netherfield Ball, telling me, "I shall be certain to dress my best for then he cannot help but wish to dance with me."

I held my tongue. If she dressed in her finest, it would allow Mr. Darcy to better admire her, too.

Given Eliza's prior manner toward Mr. Darcy, I was pleased that she did not refuse his request to dance at the Netherfield Ball. However, I was fearful about what she would do during the set.

I did my best to encourage Eliza toward Mr. Darcy, saying "I dare say you will find him very agreeable."

Obstinate, headstrong girl that she is, she replied, "Heaven forbid! - _That_ would be the greatest misfortune of all! - To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! - Do not wish me such an evil."

Her obviously ridiculous attitude silenced me, but when Mr. Darcy approached to claim her hand, I felt I must make one last effort to save her from herself.

Therefore, I whispered, "Do not be a simpleton and allow your fancy for Mr. Wickham make you appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence!"

However, being the foolish, stubborn miss that she is, Eliza gave me no reply besides a look that said, I shall do as I wish.

I know she wanted to dance with Lieutenant Wickham and there is nothing wrong with that. Likely if he had been present and she had danced with him, she would have raised the green-eyed monster in Mr. Darcy and that can be an effective technique. But to truly prefer someone with no means is bullheaded indeed.

The next day, I was shocked to discover that Eliza's cousin Mr. Collins had made an offer to her and been soundly refused. While I could understand that she was perhaps not expecting his address, I did not understand her lack of prudence.

I could understand Eliza passing up Mr. Collins's offer if she thought she could secure Mr. Darcy, but to just reject Mr. Collins for no reason other than his personality was quite foolish. He has a respectable position with a caring patroness and the expectation of far more. There is a rightness in him seeking to make amends to his cousins which shows a rather decent character.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; here Mr. Collins was the bird in her hand and the two in the bush were Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. I _do not_ fault Eliza for giving up any opportunity at Mr. Bingley for Jane; he is just looking for the opportunity of alighting in Jane's hand. I _do_ fault Jane for failing to extend said hand.

I tried, time and again, to get Jane to show Mr. Bingley how much she desired to become Mrs. Bingley. While there was no time to speak to her alone about it, the day after the assembly, on another occasion when she and Eliza came to see me, I stole a few moments alone with her (when Eliza was in the necessary) to tell Jane, "You must flirt and encourage Mr. Bingley to be in love with you."

But Jane told me, "I barely know him yet; should I truly encourage him if I do not yet know if he would suit?"

I responded, "He has five thousand a year and is handsome. What more do you need?"

She shrugged and the next moment Eliza rejoined us, ensuring that this conversation was at an end.

Knowing the closeness of the elder Miss Bennets, I repeatedly suggested to Eliza that she encourage her sister to secure Mr. Bingley, but she continued to focus on her idea that Jane should do nothing until she was sure of her feelings, stating that Jane's partiality was something that Mr. Bingley being its object, he should find out himself. This was obviously a ridiculous idea, but it was clear Eliza was not going to help Jane as she should.

After they were in company more, I again suggested to Jane when we had a moment alone, "Mr. Bingley clearly admires you. You have been remiss to not yet secure him. Surely you know by now that he would make a most amiable husband."

She told me, "I may make more of an effort if he has not proposed by the time of the Netherfield Ball. My mother is already making much out of nothing, thinking he holds the ball as a complement to me. She is already planning our nuptials and discussing my future felicity with anyone who will listen. If you think my mother is insufferable now, imagine how much worse she would become if I showed more interest. She has driven all of my previous suitors away. A fine line must be walked when she is around."

"Then, do not show him encouragement when she is near, only when her eyes are elsewhere."

"Do you not know that my mother has spies everywhere? She will learn of anything I do from your mother, Mrs. Long and all the rest. I know I should have made my interest clearer when I was at Netherfield, but I hardly felt or looked my best when suffering from that abominable cold. Mr. Bingley was ever so accommodating and solicitous, he would make a fine husband indeed, but with his sisters and Lizzy so near, well I could not see how to do it. But if I had, even now I might be engaged."

"Why Jane, from how Eliza tells it, all this time you have been hesitating while you attempt to make out your feelings but that is not it at all, is it?" Not giving her time to respond I added, "You are just as mercenary as the rest of us, are you not?"

"Perhaps," she gave a sly smile, it was almost a smirk, "but do not say anything to Lizzy. She sees the best in me, and I would hate to disappoint her. She is always going on about how she wishes to only marry for the deepest love and assumes I feel likewise. How she can believe that circulating library tripe about true love is beyond me. And I could certainly love Mr. Bingley; it would not be difficult at all."

It was only the vagaries of luck that her hesitation to extend her hand earlier allowed him to escape to London and remain there. Still, Jane told me she thought she might be able to finagle an invitation to London from the Gardiners and find him again by calling upon his sisters. I dare say if this does not work out, she will act more quickly the next time an eligible suitor crosses her path.

I will not even place Mr. Wickham in the bush. I think he may be a lech, a leech, sucking what he can get from whomever is available. In any event, whatever he may be, he isn't something to pick up; he is a diversion, a distraction, vermin and nothing more. The rumors he has spread about Mr. Darcy only show how lacking in good character Mr. Wickham is.

Eliza is stubbornly blind. How could she not see that Mr. Darcy favored her when he made an effort to converse with her while not bothering with any other women save of his own party at previous gatherings? How could she not see the honor granted to her when Mr. Darcy asked her to dance at the Netherfield Ball? How could she not see how he kept staring in her direction during the dinner at said ball? Why does she speak of love when she is blind to the man in front of her who is already half in love and would be the full way there with the barest of encouragement from her?

I do not regret securing Mr. Collins after making sure Eliza was certain of her rejection of him. She practically pushed him off on me when my family hosted the Bennets and her cousin for dinner (as I had suggested to my mother). Mr. Collins needed some encouragement which was easy enough for me to provide. When he sought me out the next morning and I saw him approaching, it was easy to set out down the lane to "accidentally" encounter him. If I "accidentally" brushed my bosom against the arm that he offered to me, he at least understood from that action that I was his for the asking. Jane should have acted similarly towards Mr. Bingley; if she had, she might already be Mrs. Bingley.

Mr. Collins is biddable; this is clear to see. As time goes on, I am certain I can make him defer to my wishes as he currently defers to Lady Catherine's wishes. He is not a strong man, but that is hardly a character flaw for my purposes. He wanted to fancy himself in love and I fulfilled this desire most easily and thereby obtained my life's goal of marrying and gaining my own home.

Although Eliza does not deserve it, I will still endeavor to help flush Mr. Darcy from the bush so that he may fly toward her. It is only right to help a dear friend, whether or not that friend acknowledges needing help, which she certainly never would.

Mr. Collins has certainly proved useful in this. In all his prattling about Lady Catherine, I learned that not only is she the aunt of Mr. Darcy, but that Mr. Darcy is expected to visit her just before Easter. So, while Mr. Darcy may no longer be at Netherfield, it is not too late. I only wish I could do something to further Jane's hope of Mr. Bingley.

Just after our engagement, I started hinting to Mr. Collins that he would be well rewarded should he grant my desire of having my father, sister and Eliza visit me in the spring. I also began to work on Elizabeth accepting such an invitation. The idea was so firmly implanted in Mr. Collins's mind by the time we were to wed that it had already been decided that the visit would take place in March and I had no hesitation in telling Eliza the night before my wedding that I was counting on her to visit with them then.

Being married to Mr. Collins has not been a surprise. He as just as unpleasant a husband as I imagined him to be, but everything he promised has come to pass and it has been easy to bend him to my will, bit by bit. We are frequent guests at Rosings and I have hope that our devotion shall result in increased patronage as Lady Catherine has other livings to bestow. I have limited my interactions with my husband as much as possible, selecting a parlor facing the garden for myself while he has dominion over the one facing the lane, encouraging Mr. Collins to work in said garden telling him how healthful the exercise is, urging him to visit his parishioners regularly and to work on his sermons in either the front parlor or his study. Mr. Collins is grateful that I allow him marital intimacies twice a week; he seems to have the impression that I am most generous to indulge him so frequently.

I am depending upon Eliza's visit, but more for her benefit than mine, at least at first. Perhaps I can still help Eliza secure Mr. Darcy, even against her will. In this way, she can have a life of leisure.

If I can orchestrate such a match, Mr. Collins and I could well benefit from Mr. Darcy's patronage in the church. There is no harm in that, since she stands to gain so much more than us. I just need to figure out how to make Eliza open her hand.


	18. 15: Dreams and Wishes

**Chapter 15: Dreams and Wishes**

After hearing from Bingley the message Miss Elizabeth sent for me, I began to hope that I might yet have an opportunity to gain Miss Elizabeth's regard. My hope needed an outlet, to have a physical manifestation, but for a time I did not yet know what it should be. But then, one morning without really thinking about what I was doing, I found myself retrieved Miss Elizabeth's yellow ribbon from where I had secreted it in a drawer.

I put Miss Elizabeth's ribbon in my pocket with my twine and began carrying it with me everywhere just as I did with my twine. Sometimes when I was alone, I held both strands in one hand while I twisted them together with the other hand, and then let them go and watched them unwind; I would do this over and over again. I wished I was bound to her, if she was as I hoped she was. Our lives could then be intertwined. My eyes began seeking out all things yellow: a thin stripe on the wallpaper in the hall, three fuzzy chicks my sister drew with crayon, the first opening dandelion spotted on a walk, at breakfast the butter I slathered on my toast and the eggs beside it, the bright sun. Every time I saw yellow items my mind flashed to the image of her yellow ribbon stirring on the thorn like a butterfly beating its wings.

During this time, I had several vivid dreams. In one, a woman who I knew to be Miss Elizabeth was wrapped from head to toe in nothing but ribbons, twine, string and rope that I was unwinding, an elaborate present, a gift to me. But as I freed her form, she changed into Aunt Matilda and the ropes and such came alive, turning into snakes and worms and began to strangle me!

In another, Georgiana was playing a lively tune as I led off a set with Miss Elizabeth, with only a few other couples in attendance. She smiled and laughed. I knew she was my wife and that later that evening we would enjoy the pleasures of the flesh as is good and proper in a union blessed by God. Thus, every touch and look reminded us of what was to follow. Then the dream shifted, and I was a servant looking on as the master, George, danced with his wife. When she turned, I saw that Mrs. Wickham was Elizabeth!

In these first two dreams the endings woke me in a fright, my body sweating, my heart racing, and I could sleep no more that night.

In a third dream I was a small boy yet in the nursery. I was singing with Nurse Storey as a nursery maid tidied up. I did not really understand most of the words I was singing, though I knew exactly how to sing them. While we sang my mother entered the nursery as well and her voice joined in our song. We sang together, our voices clear and bright. This dream had no horrible conclusion and I awoke well rested with a smile on my lips.

Somehow, I remembered part of the tune and tried to pick it out with uncertain fingers on Georgiana's piano as she watched and listened. With a few tries I had pieced together the basic melody and then the proper lengths to each of the notes. Georgiana exclaimed, "Brother I know this tune! But I do not know the words that accompany it." She replaced me on the piano and as the notes swelled as brought to life by her nimble fingers, I began to sing without knowing what my words would be, only each next sound I would make. As I sang each word my mind made sense of what to the boy were just sounds.

Georgiana played the song again and again. She began to join in singing as she learned the words. The song told the story of a pretty maid who a farmer's son found walking about the countryside. He greeted her and then shared his worries about her safety, singing "I think too bold you are, to range these fields so fair." Then he told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her but she rejected him because she did not want to work hard all day as a farmer's wife. She explained she would rather "range these fields so fair, to take the pleasant air." He decided that he would also prefer to range these fields so fair with her and then she agreed to be his wife and they took the pleasant air together.

We sang the song for a good long time until we had it firmly fixed in our minds. It was a piece of our mother that we had gained back. When I sang the words I both thought of the love of Nurse Storey and my mother, but also whether I loved Miss Elizabeth. I knew she was fond of walking and I longed to be the one accompanying her.

In March I received word from Mr. Collins, who had become my faithful correspondent, that his guests had arrived. I skimmed his letter but paid more attention when I read the following paragraph:

 _Lady Catherine's condescension and care knows no bounds. We were so honored when, on the very day of their arrival to the parsonage, she immediately inviting my new father, sister Maria and Cousin Elizabeth to visit for tea._

Upon reading the name "Elizabeth" my heart soared and I felt myself rocking my head and upper body forward and back in excitement. My sister was in the room with me and noticed my movement.

"All shall be well, Brother," she attempted to reassure me, believing me to be upset by the motion she observed.

"All shall be well indeed!" I cried, grinning with excitement and anticipation. I ran to her then, hugging her and picking her up as I had when she was a young child. "Do you still wish to aid me and undo Mr. Wickham's interference with Miss Elizabeth's regard?"

"Oh yes Brother, I will do all I can." She bounced a bit herself as I set her down. "I will help you win her!"

I then read her Mr. Collins's letter and she immediately knew my plan. "I must join you and Cousin Edwin in your visit to Aunt Catherine."

I immediately sent correspondence to Aunt Catherine requesting the addition to our party of Georgiana and her companion Mrs. Annesley, anticipating no difficulties.

I then immediately wrote a most genuinely grateful letter to Mr. Collins. Extending simple courtesy to him had benefited me indeed.

 _Thank you for being a faithful correspondence and the efforts you made on my behalf in Meryton. I am writing my aunt on this same day to ask about my sister Georgiana being one of the party for my Easter visit, so you need not pass on my greetings to Lady Catherine and Cousin Anne, but I pray you convey my greetings to Mrs. Collins, Sir William Lucas, Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth. I look forward to introducing my sister to your family and guests, especially Miss Elizabeth who I imagine could help Georgiana learn to become livelier._

Lady Catherine's reply was rapid, though not as fast as Mr. Collins's. He wrote:

 _I am deeply humbled that you, Mr. Darcy, would take an interest in me, a lowly parson, and my small, modest existence. Your kind condescension has further convinced me that though your father's family is untitled it must be seeped also with noble blood. I expected no particular recognition for my family and guests by one such as you, but we are all deeply honored by your attention. Mrs. Collins asked me to invite your party to call upon us for tea when Lady Catherine might spare you, but we will understand if once you are in the presence of Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh that we might well fall beneath your notice and if that shall come to pass we will take no offense._

Lady Catherine's message stated:

 _Darcy, I am glad Georgiana will be joining us this year at Rosings. It is my fondest wish that she might choose to stay longer with me and Anne when you must return to Pemberley._

Lady Catherine had often mentioned such a desire, but I had no intention of letting my sister remain behind for a more protracted visit. Our plans now approved, I made all the arrangements for us to depart the next day.


	19. 16: Onward to Rosings

**Chapter 16: Onward to Rosings**

The journey from London to Rosings took the better part of a day. Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley and Georgiana's maid rode in one carriage while our valets rode in the other with the luggage. As for me and my cousin, Colonel Edwin Fitzwilliam, we rode our stallions with the outriders in front and behind the carriages. We planned to stop in the typical places for this journey, but to remain longer at each one to see to my sister's comfort. Although the day was cold, it dawned clear and bright, so I anticipated no difficulties with our journey.

The previous night I cautioned Georgiana not to speak about the purpose of her joining us as I knew Edwin would not take kindly to the notion of my desiring to court Miss Elizabeth. It was not, as one might think, that he would be against me associating myself with the daughter of a country gentleman with an undoubtedly small dowry, or that he would disapprove of her unfortunate connections to those in trade, her gossipy mother, and wild sisters. His time in the army had taught him that rank, wealth, and connections neither made for better soldiers nor men.

I expected once Edwin met Miss Elizabeth that he would be charmed by the lady herself and if, perhaps, one of our other cousins had decided to wed her, would have no particular objections other than the practical ones of how to help her gain acceptance in the society those of our status were expected to keep. Miss Elizabeth could become Georgiana's dearest friend with nary a raised eyebrow from him. Instead it would be me who would be the objectionable one in such a match.

Edwin had served as one of my minders for years. He catered to my needs, smoothed over my mistakes, made excuses for me and had every appearance of being my close friend, yet I had the sense that all he did was done at the behest of my father and uncle the earl, not because of any desire to help me personally.

Among his brothers, Edwin had all the charm and manners. He was dignified and likeable and consequentially when he associated with me he could improve others impressions of me. Unlike my father, he did not want me to adopt my stoney visage, but to attempt to immitate him. He did not really understand me, but he was faithful in performing his job. As a consequence, my father had left him a small estate and he had retired from his calvary post but he had not retired from fulfilling his obligation to my father.

I did not dislike my cousin. He was not like George. I believed he meant well and was loyal. We had been together for so many years that I was at ease around him. At one time, I would have said he was like a brother, but now, we were not exactly friends.

I first met Edwin when I was around four years of age (he would have been seven or so) when we visited his family's estate. I do not remember anything of that trip other than what my mother told me about it, and she spoke but little of the trip over the years. When it came up, she seemed sad.

I do remember the next time I saw Edwin. It was the summer a few months after Georgiana was born, when I was twelve and he fifteen. His whole family had come to visit Pemberley and our home was far different with so many guests. I remember feeling out of sorts that my places of solitude (other than my own chambers) were all overrun, even though when I encountered them his brothers mostly ignored me.

When I was not at my lessons, I spent a good deal of time riding. It was my custom to always ride at first light before breaking my fast and to also ride after my lessons if I had time. I felt confident while on a horse. I did not have to talk, I just had to be and though I did not think about it this way at the time, in looking back on it now I understand the exercise and activity calmed me.

I noticed that Edwin was often at the stable visiting the horses. The first few days we encountered each other there, he did little other than greet me, but gradually he began to ask me about the horses.

At that time, I had memorized a good deal of information about all the horses in our stable. Although I no longer needed a riding instructor, the man who taught me was a favorite of mine and loved to tell me about the horses under his care. Over the years I learned, how many hands tall they were, their sires and dams, their ages and temperaments. Thus, when Edwin asked me about them, I could rattle off information most easily. However, as was typical for me, I was most comfortable saying the same information in the same way and did not like to be asked for new information.

I remember he asked me a question for which I did not have a rehearsed answer: "Why is Mr. Wickham's gelding named Snail? I have seen him out and he is not a slow horse."

Questions are my enemies. Though I am much better at answering them now, I remember that I always used to feel an almost overwhelming anxiety when I had no pre-prepared answer.

That time I resorted to faithfully recited all the information I knew about Snail, in the hope that the answer was somewhere within what I knew, or if not that he would be satisfied. But as the information spewed out, I became more and more certain that I did not know the answer. I concluded with, "My father's horse is from the same sire and dam but is one year older."

Edwin regarded me with a wide-eyed look that made me feel uncomfortable. I did know how what it meant, but I did not like how it changed his face into something less familiar.

In defense I yelled out, "That is enough; that is enough." The loud words I myself spoke were angry and made me feel uneasy, I felt my body stiffen and to try to relieve how I was feeling, I began to pace

Fortunately, Edwin did not press me for an answer. Instead he quietly told me, "Thank you Fitzwilliam. I am waiting for a horse to be saddled." As I was as well, I also waited, gradually calming.

While we waited, he half reclined against the wall a few feet from me and told me in an even and gentle voice, "Next year I will be joining the cavalry. School is difficult for me and I am ready to seek my career instead." He did not demand anything of me, asking no questions, not even looking in my direction. Then he was silent.

Our saddled horses were brought out at about the same time and he mounted first. Without looking in my direction he said, "You may join me if you wish."

I made no reply, but he waited until I had mounted before setting out. I did follow him then, noticing that he glanced occasionally in my direction, I suppose to see if I was still with him and to make sure of my competence, though I knew likely he had already heard about my skill on horseback as my riding was one of the few things my father could boast about. The ride was pleasant as he took a route that was different from my usual one but one that did not pose any particular difficulties and there was something nice about not riding alone.

When we returned to the stable he told me, again his voice soft and even, "Fitzwilliam, you are a skilled horseman. I will ride again tomorrow morning. I hope that you will join me."

We rode together many times that summer. Though his brothers also rode, they never rode when we did. I enjoyed that time.

Edwin never demanded anything of me. Occasionally he would ask me a question but ignore it if I did not answer or answered incorrectly. He would also listen to me talk. I know I probably said the same things many, many times, but he would still listen patiently and occasionally contribute something to the conversation. He would also tell me things without expecting any sort of an answer, though as time went on, I was more apt to respond to his conversation.

I found that after a while I gravitated towards Edwin at other times, too. I became a sort of shadow to him. It felt safe to be beside him. He never rejected me, and when his brothers bothered me, he told them, "Leave Fitz alone."

I began to accompany Edwin when he went to the nursery to see his sisters. I would often watch him play with them as I held my own sister and rocked her in the rocking chair. I took him as my example of how a brother ought to act.

Spending time with Edwin had another benefit. I had to take my lessons with George Wickham, which would not have been my preference, but my father was always urging me to spend my leisure time with him (though I did my best to avoid doing so). However, when I was with Edwin, no one ever asked me to go anywhere else or do anything else. They were content to entrust me to my cousin.

I had a lot of resentment towards George because he liked to tattle on me. I resented him for both telling lies about me and the truth. It is easier now to channel my frustrations and even rage into more productive activities, but as a child I often acted out over things I had no control over.

It was not uncommon for me to destroy or ruin things when frustrated. Sometimes my anger was channeled into a sudden, dramatic act of destruction, such as when I ripped drapes in our school room with my bare hands. Other times it was a covert sabotage, subtle destruction that no one might notice for a good long time, such as when I took a knife to a throw rug in my bedroom, first only making a tiny cut in one corner, then as the days went by I added more cuts until the damage was dramatic when someone took the trouble to actually look at it.

George always made sure my father knew who was responsible for any damage. Perhaps, at first, this might have been done to prevent him from somehow getting in trouble, but as we grew older, it became worse than him just tattling. George began to break things deliberately and then lay the blame on me. He knew if he did something characteristic of me that I would always get the blame.

At the time I had no idea of his motive, but having a bit of distance and being older (and having heard Edwin's and Bingley's opinion on the matter more than a few times), I understand George's behavior better than I did at the time. I believe George was envious of my position in life, hated me for having what he did not, especially because he did not believe I deserved it, and sought to integrate himself to my father.

I remember an incident where I snuck into the hen house, collected a basket full of eggs and pilfered them and was caught throwing them. This was not the first time I had taken eggs from the hen house. I done this a few times before, though it took preparation for me to carry out the final act of taking the eggs.

The first time the smell put me off before I came close. While there was not a good solution to this problem, the second time I approached I had a scarf wrapped around my face and breathed out of my mouth. That time I made it to the door but was then too squeamish to push my way through the chickens hoping I had feed. The third time I grabbed some of their feed and threw it on the other side of their enclosure before I entered so none would brush against me, but then was too alarmed by the appearance of the unwashed eggs to even touch them. The fourth time I made sure my hands were covered by my oldest gloves that were already quite stained but failed to throw enough grain to keep them away from me and ended up abandoning my basket when only half filled inside. The fifth time I brought plenty of grain and managed to keep them distracted long enough to complete my mission.

My usual practice, once I had worked out all the particulars for collecting the eggs, was to take as many eggs as would fit in my basket and then escape into Pemberley's woods before throwing each egg as hard as I could against tree trunks at various distances. I knew it was wrong to do so but the desire was overwhelming and the relief I felt as each egg shattered was amazing. I never heard a word about it and thought my thefts were undetected.

However, on this occasion I had been so angry that I did not make it to the woods and instead threw them against my father's new carriage. I was angry at him and I wanted to punish him. I do not recall the exact incident I was angry about. My father was always trying to make me be who he wanted me to be as his heir, and I had learned that I could not oppose him without horrible consequences.

Edwin came across me as I threw the last egg or two.

"Fitz, what have you done?" he cried.

I hung my head in shame, "It was not me. I did not do it. I did not mean to. I am a bad person. I made a bad choice."

"Is it you who is behind the missing eggs? George said it must be you and that is what he has told your father."

"No, not me," I said, almost yelling even as I knew he knew what I had done. I did not want to get in trouble. Admitting it would get me in trouble.

"I think it is you," Edwin responded, stroking his hand through his sandy hair and looking away from me as he waited for me to answer.

I made no answer.

"I will help you clean it up," he offered, still not looking in my direction. "On a warm day like today, the eggs will be difficult to remove if they sit too long. Mr. Henry has been cleaning the saddles and I expect he has soapy water left."

I nodded but made no move to follow Edwin. I thought about what dried eggs would look like on the carriage. I wondered if they would be yellow and white like cooked eggs. Although I sometimes came across the shells of the eggs I had thrown in the woods, I usually did not see the yolk or white. Some forest creature must have eaten them.

Edwin returned a few minutes later with a large wooden bucket with soapy water and some rags. I half-heartedly cleaned, enjoying the splashing of dunking my rag in the bucket and getting wet rather than making much effort at all to clean the carriage. I was still angry at my father and as much as I feared punishment, I also longed for him to understand what he had done was wrong, for him to be punished by me. Edwin did all the strong scrubbing and when we were done the carriage gleamed in the sunlight.

"Well, there is nothing to tell your father now," he told me with a smile. "No more taking eggs and breaking them."

"No more," I agreed, intending to keep my promise, at least for a while.

A couple of days later, Edwin and I were coming back from a ride when I saw my father standing by the stable doors. He had a familiar look upon his face, and I knew what that look meant; he was angry. However, I was not sure what he could be angry about. I had completed my lessons and then gone for a ride with Edwin.

Before I had even dismounted, he was already yelling at me, "Of all the stupid things to do, Fitzwilliam, what were you thinking?"

As soon as I was off my horse, he pulled me by the arm until we were just outside the house. I noticed that Edwin had followed us.

My father pointed up at one of Pemberley's high windows and asked, "Fitzwilliam, what could you be thinking to throw an egg there up there?" I looked up and to my horror saw the large splatter of what must have been drying egg on the window. The edges of it were white, but it still glistened in the middle.

I said nothing. I had not done it, yet I knew my father would not believe me.

"Uncle George, I do not think he did it," Edwin offered. "I met him as he was leaving his lessons and then we went for the ride we were returning from when you met us. I think he knows better than to throw an egg at a window."

My father looked at me, apparently considering. His voice was softer when he said, "Eggs make a tremendous mess. This seems to be the sort of thing you would do, but perhaps, just perhaps, this time you are not to blame. I had better never see you with an egg unless you are eating it off your plate."

Looking back on that summer, with the wisdom of many more years, I believe that during that first time in the stable and many more times besides, Edwin talked to me as one might talk to a frightened horse: calm, even, soft, gentle. And like that frightened horse, he was also able to calm me, to make me feel safe.

Two years ago as we were riding to Rosing to visit Lady Catherine and Anne for an Easter visit, Edwin asked me about the incident when we were stopped at an inn for refreshments. I remember him asking, this time looking right at my eyes, "Fitz, do you remember when there were broken eggs on the windows as Pemberley?"

"Yes." I looked at him, but not quite in his eyes.

"Did you do it? I have long wondered." He scratched idly at his sideburn.

"No. It truly was not me that time; it must have been George."

"Well, that explains it." He gave a gentle nod. "I thought that if it was you, Fitz, that you would not have just stopped at one, save for if you were interrupted. I am glad to realize that my instincts were right. Even if I had believed that you did it, I would have acted the same. I did not want to see the punishment your father would inflict upon you for it.

"It is one thing for grown men to receive punishment for acting improperly, such as committing theft. I have seen plenty of punishments for things like that in the calvary, even carried out some punishments myself, such as lashings, but it is not right for a father to treat a son that way when he cannot help his actions."

Later, when we set off on our journey again, Edwin and I were stuck behind a slow wagon for a bit. While we might have ridden around it, he said, "We are not in a hurry, we might as well walk the horses for a while; I should like to talk to you longer."

"Very well." The movement of the horse made me more amenable to listen to him.

"Unlike how your father was, Lady Catherine has never punished Anne for anything. She is a kind mother, much as your own mother was. Should you marry Anne, why Lady Catherine would always treat you well."

This was not the first time Edwin had endeavored to convince me to marry my cousin Anne. He continued, "Everyone expects it. The connections are excellent, it strengths family loyalty, you can live a safe and retiring life, the both of you, far away from the pressures of London for the perfectly acceptable reason of her health."

While Edwin's reasons all made sense and I had contemplated similar advantages to such a marriage, the main objection I raised to him was, "I have no wish to spend a protracted amount of time with Lady Catherine." And now, looking back it is glaringly obvious I should have considered that there was no love or even attraction between me and Anne. I did not know her well, though I understood her better than most.

"But don't you see," Edwin tried again to convince me, "Lady Catherine is another layer of protection for you both. Her domineering nature distracts others from paying unwarranted attention to you. I admit you have improved, but I doubt greatly whether you can ever be fully as you ought. There must be something off with the blood of my aunts to produce you and Cousin Anne, yes mayhap it is through our grandmother's line. Do you not see that it is your duty to purify the blood?"

I asked him, "Whatever do you mean?"

Edwin had no compunction in telling me: "It is your duty to your father, and to mine as well, to remove your defect from the family line by not producing any children. Anne is sickly and no one expects you to produce an heir with her. Having seen for myself your self restraint with my Sylvia, I believe you can keep yourself from her bed. But if mayhap you cannot, I doubt her body capable of carrying a babe. And if she did, I wager neither would survive. That is why I would first urge self restraint.

"While we both know a woman's purpose for being is to be the vessel for man's desires and produce his sons, God himself has sought to restrain her from being fruitful and muliplying and given you the means of doing your duty. Georgiana can carry on your family legacy; her husband can adopt the family name as a condition to the marriage. She is fond of my youngest brother, perhaps he could become a Darcy."

I remember feeling many emotions at once and being unable to name them I simply kneed my stallion and urged him fast around the wagon. I let the wind whistling over my body calm me as I tried to focus my mind on the map in my head. However, this was not enough to truly distract me.

During the rest of that ride, images of my possible future played before my mind. It felt dull, like saw dust. I wondered whether, perhaps Edwin was right, that this was the most proper future for me. I wondered if, perhaps, I deserved no better. However, still, I resisted all attempts on that trip and the one that followed to say anything that might encourage Lady Catherine to think that I might wed Anne.

I was hopeful that during this ride that I might avoid Edwin prodding me to marry Anne again. This was not a future I had any wish to consider, now that I had hope of something more. I worried that Edwin would attempt to interfere with my efforts to improve Miss Elizabeth's impression of me if he knew she was the object of my affections.

Georgiana and I exchanged only brief greetings with Edwin before she vanished into the carriage, the carriage horses began to pull it, and Edwin and I began riding at an easy pace by the carriage. With the rhythm of their hoofbeats, I resolved once again, "Do not tell him, do not tell him, do not tell him." which of course was short-hand for my vow not to reveal to Edwin by word or deed my intentions toward Miss Elizabeth until I secured her promise.

As my body moved up and down with my mount, I began daydreaming about seeing her and planning how it could come to pass. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would take walks as she had at Netherfield and I could arrange to encounter her on during one. I imagined walking toward her, seeing her wearing her yellow gown, her face shaded by a matching bonnet, her lovely dark eyes seeking out mine. It was a thing of beauty to imagine her gently swaying form approaching me far away from Edwin's prying eyes, while I gently caressed her ribbon. In my fancy, I would be the farmer's son and she the pretty maid.


	20. 17: Their Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 17: Their Best Laid Plans**

As we approached Rosings, Edwin and I riding our bay horses in front of the carriage, I saw a figure in the distance facing us. Somehow, I immediately correctly guessed who it would be in his bearing. The heavy-set man in the lane first waved his hand in a friendly greeting before stepping just out of the way and then bent down and remained in a deep bow. Anyone else would have fled far into the grass to try to avoid the dust our horses were kicking up as they galloped.

With a light and steady pressure on the reins, I slowed my horse gradually enough to not cause difficulties for those behind us. As my mount dropped from a gallop to a canter, Edwin quickly matched my declining speed and the carriages and other riders slowed down as well. Thus, we did not completely choke Mr. Collins with our dust, though he doubtless had much debris kicked up upon his clothing. After we passed him, I glanced over my shoulder and in that second or two saw he had pivoted toward us and straightened up; in seeing him it was most evident that it was indeed Mr. Collins.

Edwin pulled his horse up close to mine and asked, "Who was that buffoon? Only an idiot barely gets out of the way and waits to eat dirt."

"It is Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine's new parson. I have a passing acquaintance with him." I nudged my horse a little faster, feeling the increased roll of my bay's muscles as he complied. I was ready to be done with this conversation and get to Rosings.

I heard from the increased clopping gait of Edwin's horse that he had done likewise, although he was still a bit behind me. I heard his disembodied voice say, "Ah, I suppose we will see a lot of his bowing and scraping on this visit, then."

I made no response. It was not needed. My mind was elsewhere, moving down the lane with Mr. Collins towards the parsonage, wishing that I could go through his door and see Miss Elizabeth. But I knew I had to bide my time until at least the next day.

We arrived at Rosings at nigh a quarter past four. A servant, dressed in dark green (which apparently was the uniform color for the week), was waiting and immediately summoned others (also dressed in dark green) who collected the horses from us. While Georgiana and the other carriage occupants could enter the house, footmen began dabbing at each of the riders with a dampened cloth. I quickly snatched my assigned man's cloth away and finished up the task myself, but for permitting him to clean my boots. Only when we were deemed sufficiently clean, were we permitted inside.

Then we were each shown to our quarters by our assigned footmen, although in Edwin's and my case it was hardly necessary as we knew which rooms we would occupy per the usual arrangement. However, the familiar ritual of having my footman recite the same speech I heard year after year, was somewhat comforting. "I am to escort you to your room so that you may change and refresh yourself. Dinner will be served at half past six. Dress accordingly and be in the drawing-room no later than a quarter after six. If you wish to be sociable prior, Lady Catherine should be there until half past five."

We all did end up joining Lady Catherine and Cousin Anne before dinner, though I was the last to arrive in the drawing-room. As usual, Lady Catherine was dressed quite fine, on this day in a gown of the deepest blue, with a headdress that featured ostrich feathers, and a fine heavy topaz necklace. Anne's blonde hair was tangled, and she was wearing a high-necked pink gown with long sleeves, but I could see very little of it as she was covered with a thick navy colored blanket which appeared to be made from boiled wool. While the blanket cascaded to the floor, I could not see the outline of legs or feet, so I concluded she had them tucked up under her on her chair as she had long been wont to do. It was a bit odd to see a grown woman behave in such a way before company, but Anne seemed rather the same as always.

Lady Catherine declared upon my arrival, "Darcy, I am so glad you are all come. I am most pleased that dear Georgiana is visiting, too. It has been far too long! Rosings is a lonely place indeed when we have no guests. However, we have been enjoying the company of the Collinses and their visitors. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a prettyish sort but gives her opinions most decidedly for someone so young." Lady Catherine shook her head and twisted her lips; it was evident to me that she did not approve. Then she added, "However, I doubt we will need their company much, now that you all are come."

I did not like how dismissive she was of them, especially Miss Elizabeth, but supposed it was not all that surprising. Lady Catherine was forever saying, "It seems like any man who owns a bit of property fancies himself a true gentleman. However, there is a vast difference between people of rank and the rest. Although my husband and your father were untitled, the vast riches of Rosings and Pemberley rendered them almost as good as nobility."

I heard Georgiana ask Anne (who was just beside her), "Tell me, Anne, what are the Collinses and their guests like? Fitz is acquainted with them all from his time in Hertfordshire." My ears strained to hear her reply, uncertain if Anne would deign to reply or not.

Lady Catherine answered for her in a loud tone, far louder than Georgiana. She would have entirely drowned out any reply Anne might have attempted to make, but Anne's lips remained closed. "Anne likes Mrs. Collins. Her sister Miss Lucas is a shy little thing. I think Miss Bennet too lively and impertinent to be a friend to Anne. What a strange household she must have been raised in, one of five sisters and no governess! Letting children decide for themselves whether to learn or be idle, it is not to be borne, and to have all five out at once, unheard of!"

She looked at me and Edwin, waiting perhaps for us to agree with her. We were both silent.

So then Lady Catherine enquired, "Darcy, Fitzwilliam, what do you think of such a thing? Darcy, what was your impression of this family?" She paused, rather than answering for me.

All eyes turned toward me, and my own eyes immediately sought the window for some relief. I thought of what I could say that would neither insult nor defend them. "I would not raise children that way, but perhaps Mrs. Bennet does not know any better." I caught myself before I could say that Mrs. Bennet was the daughter of a country attorney. "Mr. Bennet is well read and respected in that hamlet. Miss Elizabeth does not seem to have suffered from any neglect in the improvement of her mind." I felt my comments were perhaps not exactly prudent. I wondered how Miss Elizabeth would feel if she heard them.

"Yes, you are right," Lady Catherine pronounced. "I am certain Anne agrees with you that children require a suitable governess to raise them. You are of one mind when it comes to matters of importance. She will make you a most suitable wife."

My eyes found Georgiana and then passed over her to look at Anne. She was fiddling with her blanket and did not seem to be paying attention to her mother or anyone else. But I knew that just because she was not looking, that did not mean she was not listening.

I looked over from Anne into the space between her and her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, while I tried to collect my thoughts. I knew I needed to muster words to counter Lady Catherine's declaration, for if I did not actively oppose Lady Catherine, she would take my silence as agreement.

Mrs. Jenkinson was an older woman whose once dark hair was now well threaded with white. I had known Mrs. Jenkinson for years as she had fulfilled many roles in Anne's life, first nurse, then governess and now companion. I imagined she would be with Anne until the day one of them died.

I remembered when Georgiana was a young child, taking her to see Anne. At first Georgiana was just beside me, but then was suddenly gone. I turned about and found her cowering against a wall and trembling. I was not quite sure what to do and, so, I took her by the hand, led her to Mother's chambers, turned the knob and brought her inside.

"Whatever is the matter?" Mother asked as Georgiana lept at her and was immediately enfolded in Mother's arms.

When Georgiana did not answer, Mother asked, "Fitz, what happened?"

I shook my head "no" and shrugged. "She was trying to hide behind me when we went to see Anne."

Mother pulled back a little from Georgiana and looked at her face. "Was Anne acting odd?" Mother gently stroked Georgiana's hair back from her face.

Georgiana shook her head in negation. Mother looked at me and I shrugged. I did not have the answer, either.

"Who else was there?" Mother asked me.

"Only Mrs. Jenkinson and a nursery maid," I replied.

Georgiana told mother and me, "She looks like a scary witch."

Mother began to laugh, "I never thought of it before, but you are correct, Georgiana. I shall never now not be able to see the resemblance. However, never say that in front of her. It would not be a kindness."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Mother proceeded to tell me, in exacting detail how it might hurt Mrs. Jenkinson's feelings if she thought we were demeaning her looks.

That memory was somehow meshing with the present. I had no wish to hurt Lady Catherine or Anne. I needed to correct my aunt without insulting my cousin.

However, oddly enough, back then I had not been asking about how the wrong words could hurt Mrs. Jenkinson. I was not so simple as to not know that. Instead I was wondering why Georgiana thought Mrs. Jenkinson looked like a witch.

I jostled my leg, waiting for Mother to finish as I knew it was rude to interrupt. I was also jostling my leg in the present, trying to let some of my anxiety give way.

I recalled I stilled my leg when Mother placed her hand upon it. "Now, now, Fitz, be easy." In the present I forced my leg to still also.

With my mother I explained, "That was not my question. How does Mrs. Jenkinson resemble a witch? Could not a witch look like any woman?"

In answer, Mother pulled out some illustrated books she was reading to Georgiana and flipped the page to a picture of a witch with a pointy nose and chin, and turned it upside down from herself as she thrust the bottom edge against me. I saw the resemblance then, and began to laugh, too.

In seeing Mrs. Jenkinson now, well she still looked like a witch, but now that she was older, she might also resemble a crone. Mrs. Jenkinson had a pointy, beak-like nose and very thin lips, surrounded with deep wrinkles and a noticeable jowl in her angular face. Today when she smiled, it looked lopsided, as if half of her face was partially frozen. It seemed to me that perhaps she was afflicted following an apoplectic fit. But I knew from our previous interactions that Mrs. Jenkinson was a kind woman who only wanted to be of use to Lady Catherine and Anne.

I pulled myself away from my jumbled thoughts and tried to focus on what I needed to do now. Already I had been silent too long and was allowing Lady Catherine's assumption that I would marry Anne, gain credence for lack of opposition.

I responded, "Anne and I have no understanding and would not suit, but she is dear to me as a cousin." I hoped this might strike an appropriate balance, be firm enough to dissuade Lady Catherine without hurting Anne. Although I had no real idea if Anne had any interest in marrying me, she might think it something that was inevitably going to happen based on all her mother had likely said about the matter over the years.

Lady Catherine leaned forward as if about to rise. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tightly puckered and lines I had never seen before between her eyebrows suddenly emerged. I was not sure what that meant, but that whatever it meant it was not good. In other circumstances Edwin would have intervened, but on this topic, I could not expect any assistance.

Lady Catherine stood up from her high-backed chair, hands on her hips, as she had when I was younger and she was preparing to scold me, but before she could say anything, Georgiana intervened. "Lady Catherine, would it be possible to have time to practice the piano-forte? I am always trying to improve my performance."

As the string on a harp when plucked always plays the same note, we all knew what would follow Georgiana's request. Lady Catherine settled herself down, her face smoothed out and it was as if the previous expression had never existed. She placed all her attention on Georgiana and responded, "Now Georgiana, you must always be constantly practicing if you wish to achieve true proficiency. You cannot practice too much. You are very wise to bring it up so soon after arriving at Rosings."

Georgiana nodded and responded, "Yes, I wish to practice every day, but given our early start have not addressed an instrument yet today."

"That is very dedicated of you, Georgiana, just what I would have expected from your mother's daughter. Daughters are such a blessing; my Anne would have been just as diligent at practicing the pianoforte to achieve true proficiency if her health had allowed her to learn. How lovely it would have been to hear her play and how much we will enjoy it when you grace us with a performance. Music of all subjects is my delight and I am greatly desirous of hearing you. We might also discuss the great composers and perhaps I can suggest some new music for you to master. Yes, we must certainly do that." Lady Catherine was nodding, and I could not but think that she was agreeing with herself.

Lady Catherine added, "Georgiana, I think it would be wise if you start practicing now for what you will wish to play for us later. Though, given that you are likely tired from your journey, you need not provide the entertainment tonight. You may certainly practice upon the piano-forte in this room; it is the finest instrument in the house, likely in the whole of Kent. We shall endeavor not to pay it too much mind now, so that we might fully enjoy your performance later."

Georgiana, as I knew she would, asked, "Mrs. Jenkinson, might I use the instrument in your chambers instead?"

"Of course, Miss Darcy." Mrs. Jenkinson's speech was slightly odd, but understandable. I noticed that the weak side of her face was giving her trouble.

Georgiana hates to practice in front of certain people and Lady Catherine had long been one of that group since the first time thirteen-year-old Georgiana practiced in front of her at Pemberley. All was fine until Georgiana hit a wrong note. It was most evident that Georgiana knew of her error as she gave a little grimace just after doing it but proceeded on (it was in the chorus of the song and I knew that Georgiana would likely get it right on the next pass-through).

However, Lady Catherine felt the need to point out the error, loudly proclaiming, "That does not sound quite right." Perhaps it still might have been alright had Lady Catherine held her tongue afterward and just let Georgiana continue, but instead Lady Catherine got up, walked over to the piano-forte and declared in her most strident tone, "Stop, Georgiana, stop! You must go back to the beginning and do it right this time." Then she remained looking over Georgiana's shoulder. At that moment she looked like a vulture poised over a dying animal, ready to pick at it once it was gone.

Georgiana dutifully did as Lady Catherine instructed, but started making other mistakes under Lady Catherine's scrutiny. She got up abruptly and announced, "I am done. Please take me to Mother, Fitz."

At that time Mother was not well, but we still thought at that time it was only lingering grief from father's death, so I was in Georgiana's company much of the time beside meals and lessons which Mother still supervised. I dutifully escorted Georgiana back to Mother's rooms. Mother glanced at Georgiana's face and said, "Thank you, Fitz," before taking Georgiana inside and shutting me out.

I did not see Georgiana for several hours after that and when I did her nose was red as if she had been blowing it a lot. She confided to me then, "Oh Fitz, I cried and cried. I never want to practice in front of Lady Catherine again. Her advice is opposite to that of the master who instructs me. He says that I should continue to play if I make a mistake, for none are flawless, or if the trouble seems insurmountable, I should practice just the tricky part until I master it. Lady Catherine knows nothing of these matters, so why is she so convinced that she is right?"

Although the Georgiana of today was a little less sensitive than the one of yore, she still would never wish to rehearse in front of Lady Catherine. Once Georgiana was granted permission to use Mrs. Jenkinson's piano-forte, she asked in a gentle tone, "Anne, would you like to come with me?"

I saw Anne nod slightly and give a small smile. She slid her legs down and I saw that rather than slippers or shoes emerging from the edge of the blanket, that she merely had on white stockings.

Likely everyone but I was surprised at Georgiana's request. I was not surprised but pleased as I suspected that Georgiana had remembered a suggestion I had given her.

I was surprised that Anne agreed, but found it promising. I hoped Georgiana's overture might bear fruit and brighten Anne's life. The cousins and their companions departed together, leaving me and Edwin alone with Lady Catherine.

Upon their removal, fortunately my aunt found other topics to address besides my fictious engagement to Anne. I feared, however, that my aunt would not so easily forget this topic and it was sure to be raised again soon.

Edwin curled his lips in a movement that was not quite a smile, raised one eyebrow and then appeared to soundlessly laugh before turning toward Lady Catherine and asking in a bland tone, "When do you think Darcy and Anne should marry?"

Lady Catherine smiled and declared, "Oh, in the late spring and early summer Anne's health is best and there are lovely flowers in bloom to decorate the church and Rosings. Yes, I insist upon that timing, a May or June wedding. I can arrange the loveliest set of suites, that the Earl and his wife usually occupy for your permanent residence, Darcy. It has a view of the rose gardens but also appropriate privacy for newlyweds."

I felt anger and some other unnamed emotions. _Why were they planning my life without me?_

"That does sound ideal," Edwin agreed, nodding. "At the wedding breakfast you can serve those delicate tarts that Anne and Darcy both like, but I suppose it is too early for fresh berries for the compote."

Lady Catherine snapped her fingers, causing a dark green uniformed servant to scamper hither. "Grant, fetch my writing supplies." Then she told Edwin, "There is much I need to write, to plan their nuptials." It was evident to me that Lady Catherine was completely ignoring the fact that I had already declared that I did not wish to marry Anne.

Then picking up where she had left the last exchange with Edwin, Lady Catherine continued, "While there may be no berries yet, it is true, I have sufficient preserves from Rosings's bounty last summer for my cook to make the desserts and there is time yet for elegant gowns for me, Anne and Georgiana to be ordered. I insist you all stay until the wedding. Oh, and Georgiana must spend the bulk of her time here at Rosings with us and perhaps be presented at court next season."

I felt my face grow warm, but my tongue would not speak. I felt ill. They were arranging all the details of both mine and Georgiana's life without us.

"That would be most suitable," Edwin agreed, completely ignoring my presence in the room, "You should handle Georgiana's presentation and coming out season while Fitzwilliam and Anne remain here and concentrate on begetting the next heir for Pemberly and Rosings."

Lady Catherine clapped her hands together and remained clasping them tight, "Oh, how delightful to plan her presentation, to see her curtsey before the queen. I only wish Anne's health had permitted her to do likewise, but I am most certainly the most proper person to stand in my sister's stead. Darcy cannot care about things like that. He will be far happier staying here in the country with Anne. I so do long to be a grandmother, to see my kin fill the halls of Rosings."

By this time the servant had arrived with Lady Catherine's supplies, which consisted of a dark wooden tray with compartments that he set across and hooked over the two arms of her chair. On her left side the compartments held quills, a pen knife and other supplies. On the right there was a single compartment which held her ink pot. In between was a large surface with a raised edge. It was evidently designed to keep the paper where it needed to say, and already contained a sheaf of paper. It was a clever arrangement and if not for my growing anger, I would have been interested in inspecting the writing tray further and perhaps finding out from whom to commission it's like.

I needed to say something, I knew with absolute certainty that I did, but I was having trouble speaking, could not put together the words at that moment. I had a desire, an itch, to communicate in another way, as I often had when I was younger.

I wished to flip Lady Catherine's tray, to see her ink pot hit the wall, to see it shatter and splatter black ink upon her wall, rug and floor. I wanted to see the paper scatter all over the room, to snap the quills and stomp on her tray. If I could do that, they would know how angry I was, and it would feel right in the moment. Afterwards I would feel better until I calmed a bit and the shame and self-recriminations set in.

I sat more heavily in my seat, willed my tensed legs which were ready to lift my body into standing to remain still. I pressed my palms firmly into my legs, did my best to master myself and tried to muster my words into some coherence.

It was clear to me that it was no good, but I had to do something before my pent-up rage (for that is what it was by now) exerted itself in a way that could not be taken back. I settled for the first word I could get my rubbery lips and thick tongue to say. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I cried. I could feel my face flushing.

With my outburst, I could feel some of my anger leave me. I fought for and regained my control, standing up slowly. Then more words found my lips. "Madam, that is quite enough. I will not be Anne's bridegroom. You and Edwin can keep your plans in place, with him taking my place."

I did not await their response but fled to my chambers. Without a word to Jeffrey, my valet, who was putting my clothes in a dresser, I pulled back the covers of my bed and lay down. He paused what he was doing; this had occurred before and as a loyal and trusted servant for me for many years he knew just what to do. He pulled my boots off, lifted the covers over me and left silently. I snuggled deeper down the bed and raised the covers over my head. I lay that way until I felt myself again and then got back up and read in a chair until Jeffrey returned to help me dress for dinner.


	21. 18: Finally I Saw Her Again

**Mr. Collins stole this chapter in the re-write.**

 **Chapter 18: Finally, I Saw Her Again**

The following day Mr. Collins called on us. First, he bowed very low and kept his bow for several agonizing seconds. Then he gradually rolled up before turning more exactly in my aunt's direction and then deeply bowing again. He then repeated this gesture to each of us, a bow for me, a bow for Georgiana, a bow for Edwin and finally a bow for Anne. I do not know if he did not notice Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Jenkinson in the corner, where they were companionably chatting together over some embroidery, or thought them unworthy of such a show of respect.

Once he was done bowing, Lady Catherine gave a little sigh. "As I have told you before, Mr. Collins, we hardly need this level of courtesy before every visit begins. Did not I tell you, Mr. Collins, that you need not visit so often once my guests arrived?"

Mr. Collins bowed again and while he bowed said, "I am terribly sorry if I have disappointed you, Lady Catherine. I only live to serve." He straightened himself up and hesitated in sitting before Lady Catherine gestured to a seat well removed from her.

Once Mr. Collins sat, he addressed Lady Catherine again. "Oh, how fortunate I am to be welcomed into your magnificent abode, Lady Catherine, and to be able to greet your niece and nephews, so soon after their arrival. Mr. Darcy, how wonderful to see you again. This must be your sister, the enchanting, most musically gifted, Miss Darcy and your cousin, another nephew to my most beneficent patroness, whose reputation as a most noble Colonel in his Majesty's Calvary naturally precedes you."

"How kind of you," Edwin responded. His words were right, but something seemed odd about his tone.

Mr. Collins continued on, "Of course, it is not really the first time I had the pleasure, at least for you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as I was blessed to get a glance of you and Mr. Darcy the very moment you rode by me yesterday. While I did not see Miss Darcy inside her carriage," he gave her a little nod of acknowledgment, "I certainly did see its fine design with the Darcy crest. However, I might have missed all of this, had Lady Catherine not informed me that she anticipated your party would be arriving sometime in the afternoon yesterday. Therefore, I made it my business to watch for your horses and carriages out of my window in the parlor. I angled my chair to spy you at the earliest you might be visible, as I have quite a good view from there."

"And so, you just sat and waited for us?" Edwin asked. I could not decide exactly what his tone might mean.

"Why certainly. It was the most important event to occur for many a day! I was in such anticipation that I kept getting up from my seat. It was fortunate indeed for me that I was up when the first trace of your party showed as I was able to hurry out posthaste so as to pay you all," his eyes alighted on each of us individually, "the respect that close relations of Lady Catherine deserve." Mr. Collins paused in his monologue to take out his handkerchief. He began mopping his sweating brow (it was rather warm as is usual when Anne is attendance the fire is always built up).

"Mrs. Collins was so pleased to hear of your arrival, Mr. Darcy, although she did not see you just then as she was busy entertaining her sister and my cousin from our back parlor." Here I listened more intently, hoping to hear something more of Miss Elizabeth. But I was sorely disappointed as despite my careful attendance to his conversation, Mr. Collins made no further reference to her for the rest of his conversation.

Mr. Collins waxed long about how kind Lady Catherine was in seeing that the parsonage should be most appropriately fitted up for him and his wife, explaining, "I have only been married since January and Mrs. Collins has made me the happiest of men. She is everything a humble parson such as me should desire. Mrs. Collins was most pleased to hear of your arrival as I told her just as soon as I came back in from the lane."

Just then, a servant came in, bowed to Lady Catherine and announced, "Please forgive the interruption, but it is my understanding that you wished to consult with Cook about the meals and she has just come back now."

Lady Catherine rose quickly (so the rest of us men stood at once) and said, "I am sorry to be called away, but I am sure you shall wish to become better acquainted with my guests, Mr. Collins."

"That would be most lovely," Mr. Collins responded, giving her another deep bow which he held until Lady Catherine left the room. He sat down several moments after the rest of us, mopped at his brow again and then continued in his soliloquy.

"Although I wished to call on you, Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, that same day, Mrs. Collins informed me that you would need time to refresh yourselves and get settled and, wise woman that she is, suggested that I wait and call on you this morning. I had hoped our whole household might do so, but this morning Mrs. Collins was occupied with helping her sister practice her drawing." Mr. Collins gave a little grimace then which seemed pained, almost as if them not coming with him caused him a physical pain. Perhaps it did.

"I hope you will not mind if . . ." Mr. Collins did not wait for an answer before he removed his coat. I soon saw why he had done so as then it became evident how overheated he was as his shirt had deep stains of sweat around his arm pits. ". . . I would never presume if in the company of Lady Catherine, but it is rather warm in here."

Mr. Collins pulled his hands up by his shoulders and then flapped his arms a couple of times in a vague attempt to dry them. Without a coat, his bulging stomach was more in evidence, as confined to his waistcoat in a reddish shade of brown. I was suddenly struck by the fact that he resembled nothing so much as a chicken flapping her wings, with his stomach standing in as the hen's large breasts. He bobbled his head slightly, which only added to the effect. I had to press my lips tightly together to refrain from laughing.

Mr. Collins next words seemed almost entirely focused on me. He praised my condescension in writing to me, allowing that this generosity was more than he could ever deserve. He talked on and on. If I had thought his letters were overblown, Mr. Collins in person was still rather worse.

I was glad I had perfected a serious mien when I saw Edwin, who was just on the other side and slightly back from Mr. Collins, miming Mr. Collins. He opened his mouth widely and moved his mouth open and shut, trying to time the movement with Mr. Collins's words. Edwin exaggeratedly dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief and then bobbed his head like a chicken pecking at grain.

Beside me, I heard Georgiana give a very unladylike snot, which she did her best to stifle, trying to cover it up with an odd little cough. I took that moment to reach into my pocket and pull out a handkerchief, which I handed to her. She gave me a wide-eyed look before her eyes darted back to Edwin. Immediately she raised the handkerchief and placed it tightly over her mouth. It seemed that she was laughing again but was doing her best to silence it.

As it was not like her to laugh at anyone, no matter how ridiculous, I glanced over at Edwin again and saw him raise an arm, sniff at his armpit and then waive a handkerchief in front of it to pretend to cool it down before making his own chicken wings. Unlike Mr. Collins, Edwin waived his hands at his pits while flapping.

I had to bite at my lip to keep from laughing myself. I forced myself to stare at Mr. Collins to try to ignore Edwin. I genuinely tried to be good humored towards Mr. Collins despite the tediousness of his words as he had helped me. Finally, after a flurry of words, Mr. Collins rewarded my patience by giving me the opening I needed to see Miss Elizabeth.

He said, "Mrs. Collins hopes that at your earliest convenience, Mr. Darcy, should you be willing, that you would call upon us."

"I would be most pleased," I responded and felt that it was true. "Does the invitation extend to my sister and Fitzwilliam?"

"Certainly, certainly, it would be an honor to have any or all of you come to visit my humble abode."

"Oh, I should like to go, Brother," Georgiana enthused.

Edwin crooked his eyebrow and responded, "I should like to meet Mrs. Collins."

It was quickly decided that our whole visiting party should accompany Mr. Collins back to the parsonage to call upon the ladies. During this walk, Mr. Collins placed himself firmly beside me, leaving Georgiana to take Edwin's arm. This was not my preference as Mr. Collins droned on and on and if not for the fact that I was walking, I surely would have fallen asleep from the tedium. At least I did not have to see whatever Edwin was doing that made Georgiana laugh on more than one occasion.

Mr. Collins seemed content with just an occasional nod from me, which left me free to think about who we were going to see. I both dreaded and longed to look upon and speak to Miss Elizabeth once more, to be in her presence as a plant desires the sun.

When we were ushered into the sitting room, my eyes immediately alighted on her. Miss Elizabeth glanced at me and then quickly looked down. Therefore, I was free to look upon her without fear of getting caught up in her eyes. I noticed that her hair was less tamed than usual and one long strand was loose. I imagined it to be an oversight; perhaps her hair had hastily been done up when they realized we were arriving. That strand was long and wavy and fell over the front of her shoulder to below her bosom. I immediately tried to imagine how it would look if all of her hair was down. She was wearing a cream-colored morning gown and was as lovely as ever, but her face turned solemn when she looked at me. Instead of greeting me with words she quickly stood and curtseyed.

I dutifully did my duty to Mrs. Collins in complementing her home and introduced her, her sister and Miss Elizabeth to my cousin and sister. Miss Elizabeth greeted them but then was silent once more, which seemed very unlike her. _Would she remain silent our whole visit?_

Edwin as is typical of him immediately started conversing with the ladies, completely at ease, though I knew not what to say. I saw him try to use his charm on Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lucas and, oddly enough Miss Elizabeth said very little, almost as little as Miss Lucas. However, as they talked further she participated more. However, I occasionally saw her look over at me, even though by this time Mr. Collins was once again talking at me. I wondered what Miss Elizabeth could be thinking when she looked at me.

Finally, Mrs. Collins interjected, "Mr. Collins, I very much think that Colonel Fitzwilliam might like to see your gardens. I understand from Lady Catherine that you have lately resigned your commission and have an estate to manage. Have you ever been in charge of growing things before?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam owned that he had not.

I felt a moment of confusion as to why Colonel Fitzwilliam was being invited to see Mr. Collins's garden and I was not. I almost followed them out, but Mrs. Collins gestured for me to sit down, right next to the chair that Miss Elizabeth was occupying.

Grouped as we now were, I finally greeted just her, saying, "Miss Bennet, it is lovely to see you again." She nodded but made no reply. With such a reaction, I was uncertain as to how to continue. I tried to smile at her, hoping that would help, but by now she was not even looking at me, but glancing out the window.

I tried again, "I trust your family is all in good health,"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," she answered dully, adding after a moment, "no illness has afflicted them."

There was another pause and I wondered how to fill the silence. But then Miss Elizabeth turned toward me, looked into my eyes and said, with more feeling, "My sister Jane has been in town for the past two months. Had you never an opportunity to meet her there?"

I tried to hold Miss Elizabeth's eyes but was unable to do so. They were so intense, so searching, so impossibly aware of everything. It felt like she could see past my face into the innermost workings of my mind, but of course that was impossible. I felt my eyes drift up to examine the edge of her hair, to find the spot where the loose strand of hair connected to her scalp. My eyes, now focused, started studying how each strand laid and was arranged.

With difficulty, I pulled my awareness back from that and struggled to consider what she had asked. I was perplexed. _Had Bingley not made things clear that he no longer desired a possible connection to Miss Bennet? Had she tried to pursue him further?_

I told Miss Elizabeth, "I had not the pleasure."

She nodded slightly, turned her lips inward against each other and pressed them together for a moment before relaxing them into simply a closed mouth with little expression.

For something to ask, I asked, "How have you been enjoying your visit to Hunsford?"

Miss Elizabeth replied, "It is all that I was given to expect." After she finished that sentence, her lips closed and she said nothing more.

I noticed again the spot by her nose close to her lips where three freckles formed a triangle. I was not close enough to see whether those freckles all laid flat or whether any of them were slightly raised. I longed to trace that triangle with my finger to feel for myself how that skin felt and then to slide my finger across her closed lips and feel those slight creases and the dip between them, but I had no hope that she would ever let me do any such thing.

Part of me was wondering why I had come to Kent at all. The hope I had felt from Bingley telling me of her message was fading quickly. I was wondering what I was doing at the parsonage at all and wondering if I could or should avoid seeing her again. I felt that two people could hardly have less to say to one another than we had thus far.

Just then, Mrs. Collins said, "Mr. Darcy, I do not think you have ever been much acquainted with my sister, Maria. She has been working very hard to master the art of drawing. Come see the sketch she has made of me and Eliza."

I was grateful to be called away, but even as I went with Mrs. Collins to the far side of the room, I was still very aware of where Miss Elizabeth was and what she was doing. And, so, when Georgiana approached Miss Elizabeth, my ears heard her softly say, "Miss Elizabeth, I have been longing to make your acquaintance since my brother first mentioned you in his letters. He told me of your devotion in caring for your ill sister and that he missed you when you returned home."

It took all of my efforts to try not to look at them and instead continue walking toward the far side of the room. When I was shown Miss Lucas's drawings, I am sure I made all the appropriate comments, but afterwards had hardly a notion of what she had drawn, save for the last drawing that was of Mrs. Collins and Miss Elizabeth.

That drawing was not an accurate rendering. Mrs. Collins's eyes were too close together and her lips were too thin. Elizabeth's slightly curved nose was too pronounced and her neck was too long. However, Miss Lucas had managed to capture the shape of Miss Elizabeth's eyes if not all of their usual animation. I had a longing to have that drawing for myself, but it would not have been proper. Yet, here, I saw an opportunity to be able to visit the parsonage further, if there was any hope. Thus, I said, "Well done, Miss Lucas. Do you suppose you might draw my sister, should she prove agreeable with such a scheme?"

Miss Lucus blushed and nodded but said not a word.

By this time Edwin was back inside and already saying, "It has been a most pleasant visit, but I am afraid we must go."

Naturally I agreed and we said our goodbyes. As we did so, I found myself looking at Miss Elizabeth. I may not be very knowledgeable about what the face can reveal, but I felt no warmth from her, however, somehow Georgiana and even Edwin merited a bright smile from her.

Just before we went, Mrs. Collins asked, "Do you suppose Lady Catherine might spare you for tea with us, two days hence?"

Georgiana responded for us, "We shall have to check with Lady Catherine, but I certainly hope that we can do so, we shall certainly send word."

Finally, I thought we would be free of Mr. Collins, but it was not to be. Mr. Collins insisted, "I most certainly must see you safely back to Rosings." While we protested that we did not need his assistance, he would not be dissuaded.

Fortunately, Mr. Collins conversed with Edwin the whole way, asking all about his titled relations. I was most satisfied with this development as it allowed me to walk with Georgiana. Although she could not tell me of her conversation with Miss Elizabeth just then, she squeezed my arm and told me, "All will be well Brother."

When we returned our time was well occupied by Lady Catherine, but that afternoon Georgiana and I had time for a walk in the gardens. At first, we walked in relative silence but for the sounds of our steps upon the brick walkway (her steps barely noticeable but mine more clomping), the slight swish of her skirts against mine, the sounds of us breathing against the backdrop of birds singing and the horses and their handlers making their own sounds as they worked a distant field.

In the relative quiet away from most distractions, the chilled air not overly cold, the sun shining down upon us in the blue sky, I focused on the light pressure of her hand upon my arm. As always it felt comfortable and reassuring. How such a slip of a girl could help me relax and just feel at ease should have been astonishing, but instead it simply was. Georgiana had always just been my sister and simply accepted me as Mother had. Undoubtedly at some point in her life she had questioned why I was different, but I knew I was beloved to her as she was beloved to me. I felt no one could have a better sister.

The feel of Georgiana's hand on my arm felt very different from that of Miss Elizabeth's as I led her to the dance at Netherfield. It was not so much that its weight or pressure was different (if anything Miss Elizabeth held my arm more tentatively, resting it upon my arm rather than encircling it with her fingers), but what it meant, to have her with me.

When we were well away from the house, Georgiana paused so I did likewise. It was quite natural. We moved well together, and no words needed to be said.

Georgiana turned toward me, face suddenly animated, the young woman like a girl again, and told me, clasping her hands together and bouncing slightly, "Brother, I have been bursting to tell you! When we called, Miss Bennet discussed with me in detail when and where she takes her walks each morning. It seems the rest of the Collins household stays in bed rather later than she. It should be easy for us to arrange our own outing to encounter her in the morning."

I felt her excitement, felt my own face smiling in response but then I had a morose thought and felt my smile fade, combined with a sudden clenching feeling in my chest. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth was simply responding politely to questions Georgiana posed, or perhaps she only had an interest in furthering an acquaintance with Georgiana and not me.

I asked, "Did she tell you so that you may meet her?"

Georgiana responded, "I think she knew my purpose in asking her was to allow you both an opportunity to converse and she must not be adverse, or she would not have answered in such detail as she did." She placed her hand back upon my arm, but this time higher up, closer to my shoulder. It felt that she was trying to be reassuring but that she needed to do so was making my chest tight.

"Brother, I must tell you I think she seeks to resolve confusion about you and does not yet hold you in high regard. But having only spoken to her briefly I like her very much and think all may yet be resolved to your satisfaction."

"Thank you, Georgiana," I told her. I felt a jumble of emotions and then I felt tears briefly sting my eyes.

I had difficulty speaking and, when I forced out the words I needed to say, my voice sounded different, slightly higher and unfamiliar. I told her, "Georgiana, you are the best sister a fellow could ever have. I could never want for a better champion. Perhaps, with your help, all might yet be made right."

As we turned and walked back to the house, Georgiana held my arm just a bit tighter and periodically gave me three squeezes.

That night when I was in bed, I held Miss Elizabeth's ribbon. The exact yellow of her ribbon was fast becoming my favorite color.

I wrapped her ribbon around one of my fingers and then slid that finger against the back of my hand, imagining it was her hand as wrapped in a glove. Then I slid that finger up my arm, across my shoulder, up my neck and up my face, pausing at my cheek. The path of my ribbon clad finger seemed to pleasantly burn. Then, after an inward debate on the prudence of acting in such a way, I slid that finger across my own lips and imagined I was feeling Miss Elizabeth's lips on my finger, soft as that ribbon.

Although I wished to sleep with her ribbon and pondered placing it beneath my pillow where I could get at it in the night, I knew it would be folly to leave it where it might fall to the floor while I slumbered. I pondered placing the ribbon in a near drawer but suspected I would be tempted to get at it in the middle of the night. Therefore, when I unwrapped my finger, I got up and placed her ribbon safely within a handkerchief, making a little bed for it, and secreted it in a drawer across the room.

"Sleep well," I said aloud. I was not sure whether I was talking to the ribbon, personifying it, or whether I was talking to the maiden sleeping at the parsonage. As I drifted to sleep, I thought of Miss Elizabeth and hoped that I might meet her in my dreams.


	22. 19: Meeting in the Morning

**Chapter 19: Meeting in the Morning**

As arranged, Georgiana and I awoke early. It was not difficult for us as we are used to country hours, although I do not know that our servants appreciated having to arise then to dress us. However, no matter the hour Jeffrey was as efficient as ever and I even had a few minutes alone before I was due to join my sister.

I dismissed Jeffrey and, once he was gone, took that time to take out the yellow ribbon from its handkerchief bed and tell it, "Good morning, little ribbon. I am going to meet your mistress today." I took out my piece of string and measured it against the ribbon. Then I twisted the two together. I liked seeing the diagonal stripes this formed, brownish grey and yellow. It reminded me of a barber's pole, although of course the color combination and texture was wrong.

I could not but think that Miss Elizabeth's ribbon was, like the lady herself, much finer than my string. I should have put her ribbon away, but not wanting to part it from my string, placed them both deep down in my pocket and put the handkerchief, carefully folded, atop them.

Georgiana and I met for a quick bite of breakfast. Fortunately, Edwin was not present yet, nor did I expect him to be. He seems to prefer maintaining city hours now that he is retired from the army and, so, I thought there was little risk of interference or detection from him.

Minutes later, well wrapped against the morning chill (the servants awaited us with our appropriate garb), we set out together. Georgiana was wearing a long-sleeved blue dress, kid gloves and instead of a coat had opted for a lovely blue shawl with a lacy edge. The shawl was one my mother had knit for herself that, after Mother was gone, Georgiana had adopted as her own. I, myself had a coat and my warm beaver.

As we walked Georgiana suggested, "Now Brother, I know it may be awkward, but the best thing I think you can do is just be honest with Miss Bennet. I suggest you explain about George early on. While it is perhaps too early to familiarize her with all that makes you different, you must be clear that she must tell you what is on her mind rather than just assume you understand from her expressions, tone of voice and the like. Perhaps you can tell her, 'I am unused to guile and want there to be no confusion between us.' If things go well, there is ample time to help her understand you further. Likely this will require some adjustment on her part before she can absorb and cope with it all. Let her dictate the pace."

"How do I begin such a conversation?" I asked, remembering how long it took me to feel comfortable revealing anything to Bingley. "Yesterday it felt impossible to talk to Miss Elizabeth about anything. What if sharing even a part of who I am makes her feel poorly toward me?"

Georgiana held my arm a little firmer and squeezed my arm three times. "I cannot promise that she will accept you, but you cannot force such a thing. As much as it might hurt, if she cannot or will not, it is far better to know it now rather than later. I think it best if I am present for the first part of the conversation and I may remain for all of it if needed."

"Very well," I told her, "I shall trust you to facilitate our exchange. But if you think things are going well enough to let us talk without you, how will such a thing be arranged?"

She thought a moment and then responded, "I will say, 'Brother, I wish to collect some flowers.' It will then be up to you to consent if you see fit or tell me to delay until later."

"What flowers shall you find?" I asked, curious. "It is early for them yet."

"Never you fear, as we have been walking, I have already spotted a few. Not those that are cultivated, but ones that spring up where they will. I shall find some. It will not be merely an excuse." She paused and looked around, then pointed, "There, do you see, there are some snow drops."

I had not noticed them before, but there they were, small white flowers pointing down. I nodded and we were quiet after that. I used the time to think through Georgiana's suggestions and she did not try to get me to speak. She never seems to mind quiet between us, it is normal and restful and helps me to remain calm. It was well that I had that calm time as the moment I spotted Miss Elizabeth and what she was wearing, instantly my heart thumped widely in my chest and my mouth went dry.

Georgiana gave me one final piece of advice as we grew nearer, "Try to smile, brother. You will want her to know you are happy to see her."

Miss Elizabeth Bennet waited in a semi secluded spot ringed by overarching trees. Although she was well covered by a coat, beneath it I could see she was wearing the yellow gown I had acquired the small length of ribbon from. I couldn't help but notice she had replaced her bottom ribbon near her hem with a ribbon which was not the exact shade of its fellows, though I doubt anyone but me would have known. I reached my hand in my pocket and for a moment stroked my twine and her ribbon where I had left them intertwined.

She greeted Georgiana warmly and they had a brief exchange before she looked at me at all. Then she merely offered me an even, "Good morning Mr. Darcy."

Remembering Georgiana's advice, I forced a smile even though I felt awkward. I could not help but notice that she did not give me a smile in return. "I am glad you are here, Miss Bennet, and I hope we did not intrude upon your solitude. I was given to understand by my sister that you likely understood what she hoped to arrange but could not speak openly about in front of the others."

"Indeed!" Miss Elizabeth's lips twitched upward before she turned to my sister and said, "Miss Darcy, thank you for arranging it all with so little trouble to me." She turned back to me and waited.

I cleared my throat and began, "I am prepared to answer any questions you may have to the best of my ability, but before you begin I ask that you tell me anything you expect I would know from your expression or tone of voice. I am unskilled at understanding these and I do not wish for any misunderstanding between us."

Miss Elizabeth inclined her head and then followed that with a "Yes. I will do all I can to confirm we understand each other." With no other prelude she then asked, "Can you tell me why you and his sisters called Mr. Bingley away from my sister Jane twice and why his sisters then shunned her when she tried to call upon them in London? I know that through your combined efforts you have been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister."

I was momentarily flummoxed. I expecting to explain about Wickham's behavior towards me and not mine towards Bingley and Miss Bennet. Georgiana gently squeezed my arm and I felt myself relax a little. I took a deep breath and began to explain.

"I have not called Bingley away from your sister—"

"Oh, I see, I have worded that badly and given you an opportunity to be honest in your denial by using an inexact word. Do you deny you have been the means of separating them, whether by urging, entreaty, persuasion, delaying, influence or any other means? Have I made my question clear? Now there is no room for a denial!"

The pitch of Miss Elizabeth's words was different than I was used to hearing from her, perhaps a bit higher, and her words had grown louder. She stood ramrod straight, her hands upon her waist with her elbows out to the sides. She stared at me unblinking and I was quickly forced to look above her eyes at her bonnet. I noted that it was decorated with the same shade of ribbon as the replacement strand upon her dress.

She then added, while pointing at me (the movement causing me to focus upon her finger), "Mr. Darcy, you dare not, you cannot deny you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind." With each phrase, she poked her finger toward me. While she spoke her accusations, I was busy putting together the clues I had to conclude that she was angry; I felt a certain satisfaction in figuring it out, even though she had not told me. I could not help but find her even more lovely in her anger, but wished it was not directed at me!

I held my arms stiffly at my side, fearing that I might clench them into fists or point my fingers back at her or shout. I felt angry myself, that she was accusing me unjustly. I felt overwhelmed by her vitriol but did my best to calm myself. I took a few moments to breathe and relax (easier tried than done). Georgiana helped by lightly stroking my arm. My arms, which were stiff and straight, began to relax. I tried to remind myself that I had a defense and, hopefully, if I could explain myself, Miss Elizabeth might come to accept that things were not as she believed them to be.

I walked a ring around Miss Elizabeth with Georgiana by my side before I finally felt I might be able to talk once more. I paused from walking and tried to begin again. I forced myself to talk slowly and try to maintain an even tone, but even so I might have been talking too quickly and too loudly. "As I have said before I will explain all, but I ask that you reserve judgment until you know the whole of it. Bingley was called away to London on business in November and had every intention of returning, but his sisters decided to close up the house and follow him there. I could not remain behind so to London I accompanied them."

Without my conscious volition, I began walking again, this time in a slightly wider ring around her. I continued to walk as I talked, and she kept turning in a tight circle herself to keep me in view. "A few days thereafter I received a letter from your cousin Mr. Collins reciting all matter of rumors concerning me, including one against both Bingley and I perpetuated by his Bennet cousins. I read the letter to Bingley and while we agreed that it was unlikely that either you or Miss Bennet perpetuated such a rumor, he was distressed that your sister had not put a stop to it, at least with your younger sisters. Bingley asked me my opinion about whether your sister had any regard for him. I told him I had not noticed any but clarified I was not the best judge of things and had been distracted by another Miss Bennet."

I paused from walking and smiled at her, but without any positive response my smile quickly faded away. Now Miss Elizabeth had her arms folded across her chest and her brows were drawn together; even I knew this was not a positive sign. Still, I knew I had to continue. I began walking again and then the words flowed once more.

"Bingley applied to his sisters about their opinions. They were decidedly opposed to such an association as being unworthy of him and that might have been the end of it. However, a few days later Bingley declared to me his decision to return to Netherfield to investigate your sister's regard and the gossip concerning me. I expected him to write and inform me of his engagement or at the very least that he had entered a courtship with your sister, but no letter did he write. I heard nothing further until he returned and met with me after Christmas."

Her brow relaxed a little and her arms loosened a bit. I felt myself calm and slowed in my walking.

"At that time, Bingley was decided in his resolution to have no further association with your sister. It seems Miss Bennet disapproved of his friendship to me and that resolved him against her. Thus, in that way I am indeed the cause of their separation. However, he did not ask me what he should do. So, indeed, others may think him fickle, capricious or indecisive, yet he is none of these. I do not know if he told your sister why he was leaving once again. As they had no understanding, perhaps he believed his leaving so soon after these discussions would be enough to show his feelings on the subject. He could hardly declare himself no longer interested."

When I was silent, suddenly Miss Elizabeth threw up her hands and exclaimed, "This cannot be so!" Her face reddened and her eyes grew wide. "Mr. Bingley's interest in Jane was most evident and clear. _Someone_ must have persuaded him against her."

I tried to remain calm, to be the voice of reason, but it was hard. "As far as I know, it was only Bingley _himself_ that could have done it and not any other. His sisters did not want him to return to Netherfield but that was a decision he made himself. As for what may have transpired after Bingley left Hertfordshire that second time, I know nothing of your sister being in London. I suspect if Bingley told his sisters that he had no further interest in Miss Bennet that they would have avoided her calls. He may indeed be in misery of the acutest kind, but it is because your sister turned out to be a different sort of person than he believed her to be rather than because of any action I took."

"Jane is everything good and kind," Miss Elizabeth declared emphatically, "Either you are attempting to deceive me or perhaps there is some further misunderstanding."

I shook my head in negation. I felt confused. _Why was she determined not to believe me?_ "I cannot say what Miss Bennet's character may truly be, but I have shared everything honestly," I responded, hoping the truth would be enough. We were at an impasse then and I knew not what else to say that might convince her.

Fortunately, then Georgiana intervened, her voice gentle and calm. She halted me from walking and then dropped my arm and walked closer to Miss Elizabeth. Georgiana lightly touched her on the arm and Miss Elizabeth looked up at her. They were perhaps a mere half a yard apart. I envied their closeness.

Georgiana told her, "I cannot speak to Miss Bennet's actions but for what Mr. Bingley's sisters told me regarding a young unnamed woman who may be your sister. A few days before we departed, I called on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, accompanied by my companion, to tell them of our trip. They are understanding of my brother, so although they are not my bosom friends, I extend them every courtesy. While we visited, I heard the butler declare them not at home to a caller. As this was rather unusual, I questioned it of course."

As a spectator watching, I saw that they were looking right at one another's eyes. Miss Elizabeth was slightly nodding and allowing Georgiana to continue on.

"Miss Bingley told me, 'That must be the country miss that was interested in Charles. She has already called twice and is making quite a nuisance of herself.'

"Mrs. Hurst added, 'The first time she called, even knowing that Charles wanted nothing more to do with her, we had to, for politeness's sake, let her come in but managed to cut short her visit by feigning we were ourselves going out.'

"Miss Bingley seemed quite exasperated and told me, 'But she would not give up so easily. Oh, no, she was most determined, obstinately so. The second time she called we already had a caller so, naturally, we had to let her call as well and she spent the whole-time making inquiries about Charles rather than taking more than a superficial interest in us. As you can imagine by then we had quite enough and had to tell our butler that if she called again, we are never more at home to her.'"

"That certainly sounds like them," Miss Elizabeth responded. "They acted as if they had regard for my sister until they feared she would marry their brother. Do you know that Miss Bingley wrote to my sister and hinted that he was to marry you, Miss Darcy? Naturally that is a ridiculous thought, not that you are not everything pleasing but, I conclude that you are rather young for marriage."

"Quite right," Georgiana nodded. "I am not yet out. But there is more to tell you. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst explained _their_ brother declared he wanted nothing to do with anyone who could not value _my_ brother. So, while they once thought her sweet and enjoyed her company, they had no interest in furthering the association. You see, many have been cruel to my brother because he is different and Bingley is rather protective of him as if Fitz were his own brother."

While Georgiana was speaking, I saw Miss Elizabeth go from standing tall and straight to gradually sinking down a bit, as if what Georgiana was telling her was gradually weighing her down. When Georgiana concluded, she gave Miss Elizabeth a comforting pat on the arm. I envied that my sister could touch Miss Elizabeth whereas a similar gesture from me would have been completely untoward.

I wondered what Miss Elizabeth thought of Bingley, who was younger, shorter and of less importance to society, standing in the role of protector for me, but I could not interpret the look that crossed her face.

"I must think on this some more," she said in a tired, uninterested tone, turning to look at first Georgiana before nodding slightly to me and starting to stride away towards the parsonage.

"Should we meet again tomorrow?" Georgiana asked, calling out a little louder than usual to be heard as she walked away.

I faintly heard, "I do not know."

I was left confused. Had Miss Elizabeth believed us, or did she still believe me to be the cause of or only a mere catalyst for her sister's misery? I did not know, yet even in her anger she still appeared to be the most handsome woman of my acquaintance. I watched sadly as she faded from my view.

Georgiana consoled me. "Brother, there is still so much Miss Bennet will need to know before she will understand, but I think we have taken a good step today. She is probably miserable about misjudging you, Bingley and her sister."

"Perhaps," was my only response. I wondered if she would always be walking away from me. My sister was kind enough that while we walked back she let me have the silence I craved. As soon as were we inside the mansion, I excused myself and quickly walked back to my room myself. There, in the silence, I closed the curtains making the room dark and soothing. Then I removed my hat and tried without success to pull my boots off. I did not even bother to try to remove my coat; it was not so very warm in my chamber as the fire was out. I lay face down on the bed diagonally, the toes of my boots hanging off the side, closed my eyes and let the darkness cover me.

Despite my sister's reassurance, I did not know how it could get any better. After I while I took my string and her ribbon out of my pocket. I separated the two strands and placed the ribbon well away from my string (which I returned to my pocket), tucking it back in its handkerchief bed.

Later, as I felt the time ticking away, I determined I would have to get up or I would be missed. I called for Jeffrey and he helped me out of my outer coat, polished my boots, and retied my cravat. When I was put to rights as well as he could manage, I got up and interacted with the rest of the household. I tried my best to seem cheerful even though I was feeling miserable inside.


End file.
